You can’t, writes Mervyn Kaufman.
I don’t remember the thrust of the story—it was probably a compendium of advice for mature married women—but I do remember exactly how it ended: “Also, it will be good preparation for widowhood.”
I was aghast. Why would a writer use such a heavy emotional crutch to underscore an idea she was trying to promulgate? No magazine would print such an assertion, certainly not the one I was editing at the time. I challenged the writer; it took awhile for her to see my point, and even then she didn’t concede eagerly.
How, I wondered, could anyone actually prepare to deal rationally with the loss of
a spouse or partner—even if grave illness made such loss imminent? How could a woman know in advance how she’d feel, or react, when confronting the death of someone she’d been close to for years? Similarly, how could any man—even one deeply in touch with his own emotions—imagine how he would comport himself in the face of a loved one’s passing?
At dinner one night with a couple we thought we knew well, my wife and I were taken aback when our friend Jed suddenly asked, “Have either of you thought how you’d want to live, should one of you die?” Our silence and stunned looks more than convinced him to change the subject, which we obviously never addressed.
But I’ve thought about it—a lot—in recent years and finally concluded that there is no way I could imagine what my life would be if my wife were gone. My emotional state would probably be shaped somewhat by the nature of the loss—the result of an accident, a medical misjudgment or a long-term illness. No matter what, I know I’d be sustained by unyielding hope, right up to the end. Afterwards, there’s no way of knowing.
This issue came roaring back to mind upon reading Dean E. Murphy’s compelling piece in a recent New York Times, “Watching Them Watching Me,” which was mainly about how the author’s three young sons dealt with him in the aftermath of their mother’s cancer death.
The boys asked penetrating questions—about their dad’s faith, his health and his emotional state. And, he confided, “there was nearly a round of applause when I announced I had found a bereavement group.”
Rereading Murphy’s essay, I remain convinced that it’s virtually impossible for anyone—man or woman— to anticipate or visualize a likely response to the sudden loss of a life partner. Also, I’m more than ever convinced that, despite the strong feelings expressed by that writer I tangled with, all those many years ago, there’s no sure way to prepare for such loss … except to know in your heart that you must keep on living, you cannot cave. You have to continue to be the person you were to that someone you loved. For his or her sake, you have to perk up and move on.
We will be publishing a “Men Over 50″ special section in the near future. Send any submissions here.
—Photo martinak15/Flickr
About Mervyn Kaufman
Mervin, I agree it’s (almost) impossible knowing in advance our response “to the sudden loss of a life partner” (“almost” because, you know, everybody’s different).
At the same time, I believe is important being somehow prepared to that event, to the ultimate and only certainty we have in life: death. Perhaps, that was the goal of the author you mentioned at the beginning.
In Western culture, I see death is almost totally removed and denied. Sick people is confined in hospitals, children are often forbidden to see the dead ones. We even deny old age, we strive to look young at any age.
This way, when death comes – and coming it will – people are unprepared, shocked and shattered, even more so than it naturally would. They feel like death should not come; they protest it’s “unfair”.
In think this denial makes preparing and accepting the departure of a loved one, even harder and more painful that it should be.
Denial makes us helpless and weak.
I agree wholeheartedly that denial makes us helpless and weak, but think what would happen if we simply said to ourselves, “So-and-so is gonna die; there’s no use hoping otherwise.” How could we get up in the morning and face the challenges of the day…or face the need to remain attendant to the ailing/dying person? A close friend was shocked when his sister visiting their ailing mother, suddenly asked: “Whatever happened to those diamonds, Mom?” No answer was given, and the ailing woman eventually passed. Her daughter may have been trying to back away emotionally from the reality that faced her. Even so, her callousness did nothing positive for the patient or other family members—except leave a totally negative impression. Hope is intangible and difficult to sustain, but without it, think how empty our emotional lives would become! We hope for our children…for our own survival…for some cure for people we may know to be terminally ill. No, hope doesn’t prepare is for the void that occurs with the loss of a loved one, but it does make us whole as humans, I think.
@Mervyn Kaufman: “So-and-so is gonna die; there’s no use hoping otherwise”
Mervin, perhaps you’re confusing acceptance and awareness, with surrender.
I know this is common in the Western binary mindset; we are taught we either fight unrelentlessly, or we lose. We are taught to “fight or flight”.
When it’s about life and emotions, often it’s not so black and white. I learnt a lot from Eastern viewpoints about this.
Think about your own death. Unless you’re deceiving yourself, you know you’re going to die eventually. And so what do you do?
- Rejecting this very fact of life makes yourself delusional or a fool;
- Accepting this fact allows you to cope with reality, and to make appropriate choices. For you and your loved ones.
Accepting your own mortality doesn’t make you hopeless, it makes you aware. From this awareness, you can live your life in a deeper and more wholesome way. For example, you won’t postpone indefinitely what really matters to you; you won’t fool yourself thinking “Oh, sooner or later I’ll do it…” (as many people do).
The same applies for the mortality of our loved ones.
If you’re aware he or she is going to leave, eventually, you won’t wait forever to tell him or her, “I love you”… until it’s too late. Isn’t that one of the saddest regrets? Yet, if you deny death, you’ll think you have plenty of time. You’ll postpone.
The awareness of death doesn’t mean surrender and stop doing the best we can do; of course we still do the best we can do for whomever we love.
Does the awareness of your own mortality forbids you to enjoy your life? On the contrary, I think it gives you an incentive to enjoy every day even more, knowing they won’t last forever.
Acceptance doesn’t mean surrender: it means still doing your best, but with the added peace of mind of not fighting the inevitable. What you can change for the better, you change. What you can’t change, no matter what, you’re at peace with it.
It’s not hopeless and powerless, it’s a space of serenity.
What’s the point of defying what you cannot change?
What’s the point of banging your fists against a mountain? What’s the point of emptying the sea with a bucket?
It’s just more and more suffering, useless suffering. Some things are just beyond us.
@Mervyn Kaufman: “How could we [...] remain attendant to the ailing/dying person?”
You do it because that person is still alive; is still with you.
You do it in the present moment, not because of the future.
Even if you knew he or she is going to die tomorrow… would that change the love for him or her? Would you love that persons differently, if you knew he or she was going to live just one more day, or ten more years?
The future doesn’t change the present, and the present is the only thing that is. The only thing we know. The only thing that matters.
Love only happens in the present. Tomorrow is another day.