Self help thread. I am a widow coping getting on with it

itsanne

I posted this on the previous thread, but I think it's worth reposting. Although it is very difficult to put into practice, fourteen months after OH died very suddenly it still makes more sense to me than anything else I've read. Hopefully others will find it helpful too.

Ball in a Jar (posted in Way Up)

One day I saw a notice for a talk on helping children through bereavement by Barbara Monroe, the Chief Executive of St Christopher's Hospice in London. When I arrived, what I saw resembled a physics lesson. On the table before her was a very large glass jar. Beside were three balls: one large, one medium-sized, one small. Without a word, she began to stuff the large ball into the jar. With a great deal of effort, she wedged it in.

'There!' she said. 'That's how grieving feels at first. If grief is the ball and the jar is your world, you can see how the grief fills everything. There is no air to breathe, no space to move around. Every thought, every action reminds you of your loss.'

Then she pulled the large ball out of the jar and put in the medium-sized ball. She held it up again, tipping it so the ball rolled around a bit. 'Maybe you think that's how it will feel after a time - say, after the first year. Grieving will no longer fill every bit of space in your life.' Then she rolled the ball out and plopped in the small ball. 'Now, say, by the second or third year, that's how grieving is supposed to feel. Like the ball, it has shrunk. So now you can think of grief as taking up a very small part of your world - it could almost be ignored if you wish to ignore it.' For a moment, considering my own crammed jar, I thought of leaving.

'That's what everyone thinks grieving is like,' the voice continued. 'And it's all rubbish.' I settled back into my seat. Two other glass jars were produced from under the table: one larger, one very large. 'Now,' she said, imperiously. 'Regard.' Silently, she took the largest ball and squeezed it slowly into the least of the three jars. It would barely fit. Then she pulled the ball out and placed it in the next larger jar. There was room for it to roll around. Finally, she took it out and dropped it into the largest glass jar. 'There,' she said, in triumph. 'That's what grieving is really like. If your grieving is the ball, like the ball here it doesn't get any bigger or any smaller. It is always the same. But the jar is bigger. If your world is this glass jar, your task is to make your world bigger.'

'You see,' she continued, 'no-one wants their grief to shrink. It is all they have left of the person who died. But if your world gets larger, then you can keep your grief as it is, but work around it.' Then she turned to us. 'Older people coping with grief often try to keep their world the same. It is a mistake. If I have one thing to say to all of you it is this: make your world larger. Then there will be room in it for your grieving, but your grieving will not take up all the room. This way you can find space to make a new life for yourselves.'

itsanne

Way Up (where I came across the "Ball in a Jar" article) is an active self-help group of approximately 3000 members. It aims to provide mutual support to people widowed in ther 50's amd 60's. (The age range is not rigid and there are both older and younger members.) It is a mixture of forum and real life: "real life" ranges from meeting up for coffee (regular meets arranged throughout the UK) to holidays.

Joining Way Up has been one of the two* most constructive things I have done since OH died, but I nearly didn't join because of the amount of information it asks for. However, the reason for that is to ensure the security of its members.

* The other was acquiring two kittens.

Torry_Quine

joansgirl wrote: »

Just hang on to them for now. One day it will suddenly occur to you what you want to do with them. Don't make any hasty decisions.

I still have my husbands ashes after 8 years
I'll probably keep them now and when I go my sister in law will scatter us together somewhere.

Thanks.

itsanne wrote: »

I posted this on the previous thread, but I think it's worth reposting. Although it is very difficult to put into practice, fourteen months after OH died very suddenly it still makes more sense to me than anything else I've read. Hopefully others will find it helpful too.

Ball in a Jar (posted in Way Up)

One day I saw a notice for a talk on helping children through bereavement by Barbara Monroe, the Chief Executive of St Christopher's Hospice in London. When I arrived, what I saw resembled a physics lesson. On the table before her was a very large glass jar. Beside were three balls: one large, one medium-sized, one small. Without a word, she began to stuff the large ball into the jar. With a great deal of effort, she wedged it in.

'There!' she said. 'That's how grieving feels at first. If grief is the ball and the jar is your world, you can see how the grief fills everything. There is no air to breathe, no space to move around. Every thought, every action reminds you of your loss.'

Then she pulled the large ball out of the jar and put in the medium-sized ball. She held it up again, tipping it so the ball rolled around a bit. 'Maybe you think that's how it will feel after a time - say, after the first year. Grieving will no longer fill every bit of space in your life.' Then she rolled the ball out and plopped in the small ball. 'Now, say, by the second or third year, that's how grieving is supposed to feel. Like the ball, it has shrunk. So now you can think of grief as taking up a very small part of your world - it could almost be ignored if you wish to ignore it.' For a moment, considering my own crammed jar, I thought of leaving.

'That's what everyone thinks grieving is like,' the voice continued. 'And it's all rubbish.' I settled back into my seat. Two other glass jars were produced from under the table: one larger, one very large. 'Now,' she said, imperiously. 'Regard.' Silently, she took the largest ball and squeezed it slowly into the least of the three jars. It would barely fit. Then she pulled the ball out and placed it in the next larger jar. There was room for it to roll around. Finally, she took it out and dropped it into the largest glass jar. 'There,' she said, in triumph. 'That's what grieving is really like. If your grieving is the ball, like the ball here it doesn't get any bigger or any smaller. It is always the same. But the jar is bigger. If your world is this glass jar, your task is to make your world bigger.'

'You see,' she continued, 'no-one wants their grief to shrink. It is all they have left of the person who died. But if your world gets larger, then you can keep your grief as it is, but work around it.' Then she turned to us. 'Older people coping with grief often try to keep their world the same. It is a mistake. If I have one thing to say to all of you it is this: make your world larger. Then there will be room in it for your grieving, but your grieving will not take up all the room. This way you can find space to make a new life for yourselves.'

Thanks for that.

Someone said to me 'grief is love with nowhere to go'

itsanne wrote: »

Way Up (where I came across the "Ball in a Jar" article) is an active self-help group of approximately 3000 members. It aims to provide mutual support to people widowed in ther 50's amd 60's. (The age range is not rigid and there are both older and younger members.) It is a mixture of forum and real life: "real life" ranges from meeting up for coffee (regular meets arranged throughout the UK) to holidays.

Joining Way Up has been one of the two* most constructive things I have done since OH died, but I nearly didn't join because of the amount of information it asks for. However, the reason for that is to ensure the security of its members.

* The other was acquiring two kittens.

. I've joined WayUp but was like you nearly put off.

itsanne

Torry_Quine wrote: »

Thanks.

Someone said to me 'grief is love with nowhere to go'

Yes, I've come across that before. There's a lot of truth in it.

Torry_Quine wrote: »

I've joined WayUp but was like you nearly put off.

I hope you find it as helpful as I have. Apart from feeling as if you're going mad, when you've done everything together just having someone to do things with can be difficult. I've made friends through it.

[Deleted User]

Torry_Quine wrote: »

It's a big thing to decide for him.

That, what you wrote, is probably the hardest thing to come to terms with as we learn to live alone, no equal partner to ask, to discuss with. Where shall I put this, shall I get that, where will I go today, what shall I eat, shall I pay this bill first or that bill?

Every single day, there are decisions to be made and believe me, some are very important like shall I sell this house? Personally I could sit cosy in a corner but then I would wither away, I need challenges and need to now forge my own path, trusting that somehow, there is an unseen guiding hand at my elbow

Torry_Quine

kittie wrote: »

That, what you wrote, is probably the hardest thing to come to terms with as we learn to live alone, no equal partner to ask, to discuss with. Where shall I put this, shall I get that, where will I go today, what shall I eat, shall I pay this bill first or that bill?

Every single day, there are decisions to be made and believe me, some are very important like shall I sell this house? Personally I could sit cosy in a corner but then I would wither away, I need challenges and need to now forge my own path, trusting that somehow, there is an unseen guiding hand at my elbow

You put it so well. After so long it's a huge thing to decide things on my own. I went from the family home to getting married so never been on my own. It's scary.

poppy811

Learning to live alone is the hardest thing. After 18 months I am still not used to it. The only thing I will say is that I am more measured in reactions and decisions now. Last year was full of 'knee jerk' reactions followed by panic when I realised that I didn't want to something after all. I am trying now to broaden my horizons and make a new life and have been hugely helped by some psychology input which has helped with panic attacks and flashbacks after my husbands sudden and traumatic death. I found a lovely poem online the other day called If tomorrow comes without me. It gave me a lot of comfort Torry, have a look when you feel able.

Elona_2

poppy

I just read the poem and suddenly found myself with tears rolling down my cheeks but I think it has done me good.

When I tried to find it the first responses were for a novel and tv series which was a bit disconcerting but when I added poem to the search it came up.

It has snowed here with a couple of inches still on the ground so I will be staying warm and cosy with food in the fridge and prescriptions I need having been ordered and picked up in advance.

Middle dd might be picking me up tomorrow for a light lunch and shopping trip to celebrate her birthday which is today so I have looked out my boots.

Hugs to all.

poppy811

Hi Elona
That poem makes me cry every time but I have printed it off and stuck it in a scrapbook of articles and poems that I want to keep. The Psychologist also suggested writing to my husband and telling him all the things I want him to know. Keep it or shred it, no need to show anyone else if you don't want to. Haven't been brave enough yet but think it might be a good idea

Elona_2

Poppy

The idea of writing down what you wanted to say sounds a lovely albeit painful idea.

We had several months of knowing it was a terminal diagnosis so we were all able to tell him all the things that we needed and wanted to share.

Some baby things have just been delivered as I will be a grandmother in July and can't resist snapping up a few bargains. DH would have been so excited and the best grandad ever so emotions are bittersweet.

Hugs