While this is not a column about the life of a two-year-old, but rather about my second year of widowhood and the upcoming holidays, there are, indeed, many similarities. As many readers may remember, my husband passed away suddenly last August. At times, the loss feels very recent; at other times, it feels like it was forever ago. I barely remember last year’s holidays. This year will be different.
I tell myself that while my husband is no longer physically present, and I now run the show solo on the ground, he is very much with me in my thoughts and actions. In a strange way, this gives me comfort. After being together for 47 years, how can I not hear his voice and know almost word for word what he might say at any given time?
Some days are easier than others, and thankfully, while occurring infrequently, there are times when I feel angry, sad, mad, frustrated, and a host of other less positive feelings. I know that, too, is okay.
I don’t ask “why,” because that would not be helpful at all. Typically, I ask “what.” What takes me forward and away from “stuckness” or a “poor me” moment? It’s often the small things that can feel big. Life is different now, and if I want to be okay, my job is to adapt.
Initially, after a loss, we may be somewhat naive and feel numb as we stumble our way through the many “firsts.” The focus is often on survival and getting through the day. That may be more difficult than we ever could have imagined. The second year is different, and if in no other way, it’s no longer a year of firsts and therefore fewer things are new. That said, as the shock wears off, reality moves in.
Now, as we toddle into the second year, with both curiosity and apprehension, we want to believe that this year will be easier. We may be surprised to discover that in many ways it is, but in some ways it is not. Often, we don’t know when it will be difficult until we feel teary and the wave of sadness washes over us unexpectedly. After all, our new reality – with its knowledge of “forever” and “finality” – is not an easy part of the adjustment process.
When my colleague Gina Junger and I recently participated in a book launch for our new book (The Jewish Journey through Loss: From Death to Healing), the rabbi interviewing us commented that he was impressed it went beyond the first year, which was an unusual bonus. In fact, many people think that grieving should last about six weeks; you move on, and all is okay.
We pointed out that while the “official” mourning period (avelut) in Judaism ends at a year, one may grieve in their own way forever. Judaism, in its wisdom, acknowledges this as well, offering an opportunity to recite the Yizkor prayer for the deceased several times a year and to mark the yahrzeit (anniversary of a death) annually.
This, too, is very much in sync with the psychological stages of loss, since one’s grief changes over time, but often remains in the background or foreground for a very long time. Not including a discussion about the healing process and how to cope beyond the first year does a huge disservice to anyone who grieves for someone they love.
Imagine someone who had major open-heart surgery. Even if he has made an excellent recovery, a scar will remain. Likewise, we heal after a loss, but our emotional scar remains. When we lose someone we love deeply, they remain forever in our heart. We heal and grow around our grief, and we take our departed loved ones with us as we go on.
Handling the holidays: Memories of the past
Now, with the holidays upon us again, as we have described in our book (pp. 187-190), those who have lost a loved one may feel the loss even greater.
The holidays always bring up memories of past celebrations, as we see the empty seat around the family table, or feel our loved one’s absence in the synagogue. Now they will forever be missed.
You may experience an upsurge in grief at this time, even years later. They may last for a short period, but in anticipation of these events, more likely several days. This may not feel good, but it is normal.
During the first year of mourning, you may have felt distanced or in shock; now, too, during the second year and beyond, you may find yourself absorbing the words of prayer differently. You may feel that you are backsliding if these waves of grief wash over you, but in reality, you are just more aware of the loss of your loved one.
While those who have been through this know that it will get better again, you will breathe a sigh of relief when these events are over, and life seems to settle down once again.
Considering that the Jewish calendar has so many holidays, it may seem as if a death often falls around or between them. The holidays are a stark reminder of your loved ones’ absence and pose many challenges. Remember that regarding holiday preparations, which are often overwhelming and anxiety-producing, you can choose what you would and would not like to do.
You may want to delegate some of the planning or cooking, or it might be very important to you that you be involved in every small detail. While holidays can be exciting, they are also exhausting and probably will be more so this year than in the past.
Your goal may be to simply get past them. You may worry about how you will cope, and each decision may feel weighty, but you must do what’s right for you. Often, the dread and anticipation are worse than the actual event.
Change, in itself, may feel scary, but it can make things easier, too. You may not know just how you will feel about anything; the things that you think may concern you won’t, and those things that you least expect may affect you more than you might have imagined.
As the holidays approach, just as in your daily life, you may feel as if you are simply going through the motions, so it is not surprising that you feel quite unsettled. This is all part of the grief process. There is no right or wrong way. It just is, and that, in itself, may feel difficult.
You may face the challenge of separating the “how you are feeling” from the “what you are doing” with respect to holiday observance. Give yourself permission to take things one step at a time.
In a strange way, during the height of the Second Intifada, my husband unknowingly helped prepare me for his permanent absence. Having recently made aliyah, and fearful that he might lose his job here, and with Canada literally continuing to beg him to create and develop the medical genetics department in the major teaching hospital he had left, my husband began commuting back and forth to Canada.
Although we spoke at least once or twice a day, more than most couples do, I learned to live between trips without his physical presence. When we were together, we were inseparable. Little did we fully appreciate then just how short life can be.
Before and after: Appreciating the gifts in life 'afterward'
Along with the sense of sadness – that now I am unlikely to travel in the same way, and do many of the things my husband and I did together; finding it hard to imagine we have two new grandchildren he never got to meet; and armed with so many things on my imaginary very long list that I would love to be able to share – I recognize that life is different now. There was life before his death, and now there is life afterward.
That said, I’m trying more than ever to appreciate the many gifts I am blessed with on a daily basis, the people who have been so incredibly supportive, and simply the life around me. I take nothing for granted. Life is short, and now, more than ever, as the holidays approach, it is important to let your loved ones know just how important they are to you.
Wishing you a Shana Tova. May we all be inscribed for a year filled with good health, compassion, and strength.■
The writer is a licensed clinical psychologist in private practice in Ra’anana and co-author of the book The Jewish Journey through Loss: From Death to Healing (Koren Publishers). She has written about psychology in The Jerusalem Post since 2000 and specializes in trauma and bereavement. batyaludman@gmail.com, drbatyaludman.com