My Friend’s Husband Died — And I Was Afraid To Talk To Her About Love
Sometimes what you don’t say makes everything worse.
My friend’s husband died.
I haven’t known her long. She’s more of a blossoming friend, I guess you could say. But I really like her. It’s rare to find another woman in her 40s that you gravitate to so easily. So when you do, you want to savor it like a fine wine.
Our daughters play the same sport, and the two of them hit it off immediately. The fact that this mom and I also hit it off so well was like icing on the cake.
Unfortunately, cancer came — again. Her husband had battled cancer before and it had been kept at bay until now. His sharp decline only took weeks once the doctors realized exactly how many tumors there were. They had already tried chemotherapy previously plus multiple surgeries to try and remove tumors.
It wasn’t enough.
Whenever I would see her at our daughter's practices before her husband died, she would have this brave hope that something miraculous could be done to save her husband. We all hoped. She rarely left his side. She was devoted to him.
But there was always a sinking feeling in the background — an uncomfortable edge to all the positive vibes everyone was sending her way.
It was the unsettling knowledge that it was probably too late.
And it was.
All the moms at practice sent her cards, gifts, and sympathy, as did I. She took a hiatus from bringing her daughter to practice for over a month but we stayed in touch via text. I offered all my support. I crossed my fingers that she would come back eventually. I selfishly hoped I wouldn’t lose an opportunity to make a great long-term friend.
She did come back. She wanted to get herself and her daughter back into the swing of ‘normal’ life. The first day she came back, we hugged, and she held on tight. At that moment, I knew she needed friends.
My new friend was still grieving. It was only the beginning of her journey. It was still painfully fresh and the road to healing would probably be lifelong.
As the weeks went by and she kept showing up, we eased back into our chatty, sarcastic banter that we had started to enjoy before tragedy struck.
However, as we talked, I found myself editing my words.
The Pondering Nook is a reader-supported publication. If you like what you’re reading here, please consider subscribing. xoxo
Every time I started to launch into the usual list of teasing complaints about my husband — I stopped myself.
What must she be thinking? How could I go on about my husband like that when she just lost hers?
Previously it was normal to bitch about our husbands. But now. Now was different.
I realized that I had no idea how to talk about love or my relationship without feeling as though I was driving a dagger directly into my friend's heart. I didn’t how to navigate this.
So many times, I had mentally put myself into the shoes of losing my partner and the love of my life as she had done. I simply couldn’t imagine. I felt ungrateful and sour for behaving as though my friend could just bounce right back into the playful banter about how our husbands could be total dolts as we had done before.
Until she said something to me about it.
She picked up on the fact that I was editing myself and glazing over details about my marriage.
She said, “You know the worst thing about all this is having to worry about everyone else's feelings about what happened to me on top of dealing with all of this. There are looks of pity on people’s faces when they see me approaching. The paused conversations. I hate all that shit! I just want everyone to be normal because I want to get back to normal, so don’t feel the need to not talk about stuff in my presence. It’s okay.”
Yeah. Having to take into consideration how awkward the people around you are when you’re grieving a loved one IS a major burden.
Having to constantly reassure everyone that you’re okay or that you’re not going to fall apart is a huge emotional job person who is grieving.
Seeing everyone else sad for you always takes its toll, especially when trying not to fall apart at the seams every minute of the day.
Sometimes what you don’t say is worse than what you do.
At some point, we all do need to ‘act normal’ for the sake of those who are grieving and talk about the things that might hurt them — because just like my friend — they want to be able to move on one day as well, and feeling pain is a part of that process.
Know someone who would like this?