I never got a copy of the book about what is appropriate after your spouse dies

The grief to new love trilogy-Part III.

I have never experienced anything like the loneliness of losing a spouse. The personal journey of sadness is impossible to explain and definitely impossible for anyone who has not gone through it to understand.

And yet, it seems a lot of judgmental people believe they know exactly how you are supposed to behave and how much time you should take to grieve. I have heard people criticize people for grieving too long and I know I have been criticized for getting into a relationship too quickly. The reaction I got when I told some people I was in a meaningful relationship within a year of my wife’s death almost convinced me there must be a book of rules and I missed it. You would think that book makes it clear there is a very specific time period when a new relationship is appropriate, but again, the book must be printed on disappearing paper because nobody ever produced a copy for me.

Mostly unstated, but clearly implied is that anything earlier than a year is just wrong. What this view clearly endorses is that there is a prescribed time to grieve and one only starts a new relationship when one is “done” grieving. That is unadulterated bull-hockey. I have a wedding date set with a woman I love very much and I have grieved my late wife as recently as the last 48 hours. I will always grieve her and I do not find that odd at all. I suspect most widows and widowers would agree with me.

I didn’t stop grieving. I simply came to the realization that Jean is not coming back. She can’t laugh with me. She can’t roll her eyes at me and she can’t hold me. I need someone in my life to love and I got lucky and found her quickly because we were good friends a long time ago. If people can’t appreciate that, at least they can keep their mean words and judgmental looks to themselves.

Most people, but more men than women, seem incredibly pleased when I have said I’m going to get married 15 months after my wife Jean’s death. I recently met a long-ago friend in the Detroit airport and when I told him he said with certainty, “and you damn well should.” More than one man has said “I think I would probably be even faster than you!”  Men seem to be able to quickly empathize with the harsh reality of loneliness.

Many women, especially women close to me, have been enthusiastic too. Their reaction is usually, “why wouldn’t we want Tim to be happy?” They saw the depths of my sadness and don’t want me to be sad. My children have been similar. They know the depth of my loss and they have agreed that Jean would not want me wallowing in tears. There is one tricky issue with my kids that requires deep sensitivity. I can go out and find a new wife, they can’t go find a new mom. That makes me cry for them and careful to continue to fondly remember Jean with them. And, it is why my fiance, Candace, has attempted to approach my kids as friends and nothing else. But Jason, my 36 year-old son with Down syndrome who is always wise, has declared to Candace with pride and vigor that she is his “homie.” Jason to the rescue once again.

There have been some people who questioned my timing, simply wondering if  I am of sound mine rather than being judgmental. I don’t begrudge that. I’ve been second guessed all my life.

But then there are the people who seem to have the mysterious book I can’t find. They are the “mean” judgmentals. Though they have never walked in my boots, they are quite clear that I am violating some law of the universe. More than a few women immediately apply my situation to that of their husband and wonder if he would do the same thing. They don’t like that worth a damn but that is a silly inquiry because the grief process and the reconstruction process are unique to each of us.

There can be no schedule for rebuilding one’s life and finding a new partner. Each widow and widower should make their own decision about what is right for them with full confidence that there is no damn book to follow! Only your heart.

Tim J McGuire is the author of “Some People Even Take Them Home” A Disabled Dad, A Down Syndrome Son and Our Journey To Acceptance

Fortitude comes from laughter and perspective

St. Joseph’s New Hope, my home Catholic parish in Minnesota, hosted a book reading and signing this summer for my book, Some People Even Take Them Home” A Disabled Dad, A Down Syndrome Son and Our Journey To Acceptance.

The event was my favorite book event so far. More than a 100 old friends, new acquaintances and the just curious turned out to hear me read and explain passages from the book. Just like the book, there was laughter, plenty of tears and, I hope, some wisdom. There were also questions. Some of those were probing and provocative.

A mother of a severely cognitive delayed child, who had obviously had a difficult trial raising her son, rose to tell me her challenge and then asked, “Where do you get your fortitude?” Nobody had ever asked me that question before and I had no glib answer. I briefly thought about fortitude as a gift from the universe, but that felt like a cheap, unhelpful answer.

Uncertain of exactly where I was heading I told the searching woman, “It starts with laughter.” I think that is a key message in my book. You always have the choice to cry but that brings down you and everyone around you. When you laugh the world grows bigger. There is suddenly more space for courage, grit and affection.  Some people have commented that some of our family humor was rude. Walk in those shoes, baby, and I will show you rude. The dictionary defines humor as “a comic, absurd, or incongruous quality causing amusement.” Another definition says humors are “peculiar features; oddities; quirks.” Any parent of a developmentally delayed or developmentally disabled child will tell you there are more “peculiar features, oddities and quirks” in raising such a child than there are Minnesota mosquitoes. Those oddities can drive you insane with frustration or you can laugh at them and make them your friend. For me and my family that laughter was a critical source of any fortitude we managed.

Then my answer wavered just a bit until I suddenly got the courage to tell that small crowd that, for me, fortitude is all about how I choose to look at life. In a way that I had never expressed before I talked about attitude.

I asked the group to let me make an illustrative assumption about their day. I said “let’s say 10 things happened to you today. I dare say seven of those were very good things. Nice happy moments of minor triumphs and joys.” I went on. “I will also guess that about three things that happened today were bad–everything from a flat tire to an overly-critical boss to a minor slight by a friend.”

I then observed that the difference among most of us is the choice we make about what to focus on at the end of our day. Are we obsessed with the three bad things or do we find solace and victory in those seven good things?

For me, celebrating those seven nice moments gives me the strength or, if you will, the fortitude, to power past the tough challenges and truly enjoy this earthly journey.

Happily, the woman nodded in agreement.