When “Till Death Do Us Part” Happens

Another widow finds herself suddenly alone

I played the piano at yet another funeral at St. Anthony’s yesterday. Another older woman has lost her husband. As soon as I started the first song, “Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling,” she began to cry, loud and messy. She sat in the front pew, surrounded by her children, who were also crying. I had to steel myself to focus on the music. By the homily, I had tears in my own eyes, remembering my own losses.

I talked to the new widow afterward. Standing in the sunshine accepting condolences, she was relatively calm. When we hugged, she was so thin I was afraid I might break her. She and her husband had been married 62 years. He died suddenly of a burst blood vessel in his brain. She apologized for crying so much. I told her to cry as much as she wanted to. You need to let it out.

Afterward, as the family went on to the cemetery, I drove to the beach, the same beach where I helped a friend scatter her husband’s ashes in the water a few weeks ago. Yes, I know it’s illegal. But it was beautiful. We watched his ashes drift out to sea as we sang “Amazing Grace” and “Eye has Not Seen.” We tossed in a purple hydrangea from my bush. It remained in the surf a long time, a bright burst of color in the tan sand and pale blue water.

My friend, back in California now, is having a hard time living alone. I think this new widow will also find it difficult. She will cling to her grown daughters and the rest of her family. She’s lucky she has them.

The beach was deserted yesterday. As I walked the hard, crusty sand in my church clothes, I finally let my own tears fall. One of the daughters had asked me after the funeral how long it takes to get over a loss like this. “I’ll let you know if it ever happens,” I said. The grief is still there. So I wept. Then I walked on, savoring the warm sand against my bare feet and thinking about what I wanted to eat for lunch.

When a couple has been married so long, when they are so bonded they truly become one person, the spouse who remains feels lost. After a lifetime of doing everything together, she has no idea how to keep going alone. Older widows and widowers struggle to do the practical things their partners did: pay bills, maintain the house, cook the meals. They may have their own health problems. They might not have much money left to live on. And the grief is enormous. If they have children, those children may try to fill the gaps, but it’s not the same.

In some ways, I was lucky. I had practice living alone before I became a widow. I had been divorced for several years before I met Fred. During our marriage, we both traveled for business. After his Alzheimer’s made it impossible for him to stay home, he lived in nursing homes for two years before he died. Plus I’m an independent cuss who has always preferred to take care of things myself. With no children and no family nearby, it was good that I knew how to live alone and that I had friends I could call on when I needed help.

I didn’t weep during Fred’s funeral, where I sat with my father and my brother and two of Fred’s three children. I had already shed a million tears while he was living in the nursing homes. This wasn’t a sudden loss like the one we commemorated yesterday.

I don’t know the family from the funeral very well. I know they moved to Oregon from Chico, California relatively late in life. I knew the two daughters from church, but I had never spoken to the mom before. I don’t know what this widow will do now. I suspect she will not live alone. There’s no shame in saying “I can’t do it by myself,” just as there is no shame in sobbing while the music plays and the priest keeps saying your husband’s name as you stare at the urn on the altar.  

Readers, we come to be alone in many different ways. Is it any easier if we have never experienced a partnership like the couple from yesterday’s funeral?

What is the most difficult part when you find yourself suddenly alone? Are some people just not able to keep going by themselves? Do you feel that way yourself sometimes?

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How did I end up alone? I didn’t have any kids. After my husband and I retired to the Oregon coast, far from family, he died of Alzheimer’s. You can read our story in my new memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.