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    Widowhood Is Not Funny: A Guidebook for the New Widow
    Widowhood Is Not Funny: A Guidebook for the New Widow
    Widowhood Is Not Funny: A Guidebook for the New Widow
    Ebook112 pages1 hour

    Widowhood Is Not Funny: A Guidebook for the New Widow

    By Alanna Parke Kvale

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    About this ebook

    Widowhood Is Not Funny is a Guidebook for the New Widow. Change is hard and life without one’s husband is scary and intimidating. But the widow’s journey doesn’t have to be a lonely trek.
    Grief is personal and eventually every new widow must find her own path to a new life, new purpose and new happiness. All must learn to navigate their way through the minefield of emotions that comes along with this kind of loss.
    This Guidebook is intended to help the new widow not only make it through, but also find her way back to joy. She’s not alone!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateMar 15, 2010
    ISBN9781617922732
    Widowhood Is Not Funny: A Guidebook for the New Widow

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      Book preview

      Widowhood Is Not Funny - Alanna Parke Kvale

      Resources

      Introduction

      Widow. The word consumes itself.- Sylvia Plath

      Over 13 million people in the United States have been widowed. Eleven million of those people are women.

      In the beginning, trying to come to terms with your loss, it almost feels like you are dying too. And for a brief moment, that seems like a relief. Just close your eyes and let death take you too. It seems preferable to the horror that your life has become. You can’t even picture your future, everything is gone, your hopes, your dreams, all your plans, gone in that instant along with your husband. And you think, wouldn’t it be easier that way? You wouldn’t have to live without him or deal with tragedy at all.

      Then reason returns, sometimes in the form of your children, demanding your attention. Or, your friends pulling you back into the world of the living. You resist at first, unwilling to face the pain, but finally their pleas reach your heart and you realize how much you’re still needed here and now. You’re reminded that though your husband has died, you have not, and you’re not through with life on this planet. It’s time to finish the race, to pick up where he left off. It’s time to live!

      The insights you’ll find in this book are not new, by any means, but I learned them first-hand through personal experience. In my quest for understanding and meaning in my own life, I have read just about everything I could lay my hands on. There’s one clear thread that runs through it all. Grief is personal and everyone gets through it in her own way. The pain is universal, but there are steps each of us can take to find our way through this anguish.

      Just know that you can find your way through the maze of widowhood and there is joy on the other side. Hang in there, give yourself time and understanding and you will make it through.

      Chapter One

      My Story

      A widow is a fascinating being with the flavor of maturity, the spice of experience, the piquancy of novelty, the tang of practiced coquetry, and the halo of one man’s approval.- Helen Rowland

      You may have experienced this scenario or something similar:

      It was early, early Monday morning, February 23, 2004. My husband Mel had come back from his night job, showered and come to bed. He would get a few hours sleep before starting work at his side job, as a custom engraver. I smiled as he slid into bed next to me.

      We’d only been asleep an hour or so when I was awakened by strange sounds. I thought at first it was just Mel’s usual snoring; something that I’d teased him about many times. However, there was something unusual and frightening about this particular sound. I tried shaking him awake, but to no avail. Then the sound stopped. It stopped because he had stopped breathing. My hands were trembling as I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

      The woman who answered my call tried to help me give him emergency aid, but I couldn’t get him off the bed and situated properly, as the woman had instructed. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get him breathing again.

      In the meantime, the dispatcher had summoned the emergency team, and I could hear them knocking downstairs. I ran downstairs to let in the paramedics, and then followed them back up to our bedroom. Shrinking into a corner of the room, I watched as they worked on Mel, trying repeatedly to get his heart pumping again.

      The team was frantically working on him, when our daughter, Samantha stumbled into the room, a look of panic in her eyes. Our Siamese cat Buddy flew from the room, terrified of so much activity and so many strangers.

      The paramedics finally shifted Mel to the waiting ambulance and streaked off, headed for the hospital across town. I remembered later that I hadn’t heard the siren as they left. I don’t think I wanted to admit to myself what that might mean, that there was no hope for him.

      Samantha and I moved in a fog after they left, throwing on clothes and grabbing the list of phone numbers I kept on the refrigerator door. I’m still not sure how I managed to remember to take that list with me. I only vaguely recall the drive across town to the hospital, where I parked my car, and the two of us flew into the emergency room.

      As soon as we identified ourselves, a nurse pulled us into an inner waiting room, cut off from the rest of the area. A doctor came in to talk to us at that point. The fog lifted briefly, and I remember thinking that it must be very bad news indeed, since they had isolated us. I’d never been so frightened in my life.

      The doctor muttered something about how they had done everything they could, but there was heart disease, and your husband had a sudden heart attack. I’m sorry, but he expired.

      Expired? Who talks like that? He made it sound as though Mel’s shelf life had just ended. How about real words? Words like, I’m so sorry, but despite our best efforts, your husband died.

      That’s when total panic set in and the fog threatened to descend again. At that moment however, my daughter began to hyperventilate, something that happens when she’s in serious emotional distress. I asked the nurse for a small paper bag and I began to work on getting Samantha’s attention on her breathing. It took only a couple of minutes to get things under control, thankfully. All I could think was that I couldn’t just let go of my emotions, she needed me to stay calm.

      Once she seemed able to breathe properly, I grabbed the phone and made two calls. The first was to my daughter-in-law, to get hold of my son, who was overseas in India on a business trip. It would be up to her to find him and get him home. Later I found out his company had been wonderful in this emergency. Someone stayed with him, helped him pack and put him on a flight headed home. It was a very long flight back for him, poor thing.

      The other call I made was to Mel’s younger brother, David, at work. I remember telling him about the heart attack. I mumbled, He didn’t make it! and began to cry again.

      Thankfully, those two called the others. I simply couldn’t manage any more calls right then. I kept one eye on Samantha and her breathing, while my mind reeled in confusion.

      David’s wife and my good friend, Barbara showed up very quickly and began to help me make the necessary decisions and arrangements. Bless her, she solved so many problems that day, and I don’t know what I would have done without her. I kept saying, What am I going to do without him?

      I answered what seemed like the interminable questions of the medical staff, until I thought I’d scream in frustration. I did what I knew Mel would want and donated whatever organs, etc. that might help to save someone else. I found out later that Mel’s corneas made it possible for someone else to see. I knew he’d have been happy to know that. He was a very generous and giving person.

      When we had finished the paperwork, a nurse asked if I wanted to see Mel. I stood there in confusion for a few moments, unsure if I could even handle that. Samantha held my hand as we entered the tiny cubicle where they’d left him all alone.

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