What not to say to a bereaved family

A couple of weeks back I wrote a piece for Parentdish on this very subject:

What not to say to a bereaved family.

It was something I really wanted to write about and it was quite a cathartic process. My friend Helen read the piece before I sent it and said that I sounded very angry.

I think that's a key aspect of grief that can be overlooked. People think you will be sad, despairing, heartbroken you name it, and of course you are, but rage can be equally overpowering.

Think about it. Perhaps like Lisa, whom I quoted in the article, you lose your husband 24 hours after learning he is ill, you are 35 years old and you have two young children.

Then someone tells you: "I know how you feel, my rabbit just died."

I think you'd be pretty angry too.

It's a puzzle to me as to why we don't talk about grief much. I'm grateful for all the kind words and concern people have shown me over the past year or so. I'm sorry I sound so angry.

But I'm getting there.

Thanks for reading.

Getting on

Last night I dreamed me and Neil were renewing our wedding vows. There was a lot of kissing, laughing and cuddling and our girls were with us, smiling and so proud.

As I began to wake, I fidgeted a little in bed and reached out my arm to where Neil would lie. That brought me back to reality with a jolt and I cried my eyes out.

I dream about Neil regularly. There was a massive difference though this morning as after my tears I smiled and thought about how much we loved each other. So you could say my dream was a comfort, rather than something that only made me sad.

My wonderful friend Kim has always told me that when we dream about someone we love who is no longer with us, that means they are still here and want to remind us of that. She says Neil is telling me he still loves me and right now I choose to believe her.

In general things are getting better. I have had pneumonia and whooping cough and had to have tests on my heart, these proved to be absolutely fine so that was one hell of a relief. With a period of prolonged illness and the repeated experience of sitting in medical waiting rooms, there was a lot of time for memory and reflection -- much of it all-too painful.

But on a hugely positive note, my flashbacks have lessened.

People have been telling me for months that the "first" of everything after someone dies is the hardest -- a birthday, a Christmas, anniversaries and of course the day your loved one was taken from you. But I wasn't prepared for how much I would be bowled over by being ill. The reality of being a single parent and having to get on with all that involves really hit home, as well as the absence of a "rock" who has been there for so long, offering unconditional support emotionally and practically.

Then my girls went on a school trip for a week so I had the opportunity to head for Wales with my mum and our dog and I slept for days. I must have so needed it.

I feel like I have turned a corner, having recently spoken directly to a doctor who caused us untold anguish. When he apologised to me, I felt 10 feet tall, I came out of his room and said under my breath to Neil "I told him Darling, I bloody told him." That's after five pages of apology from the hospital, the spark for so many of my flashbacks.

I've also organised for a bench to be sited in a place that holds lots of precious memories for our family, with a plaque saying 'In loving memory.' This also brings me some comfort.

Day to day I am getting on, I have had a first session with a grief counsellor through an emotional well-being service and she couldn't get a word in. She said that it was very early days for me, that I am "incredibly self-aware" and that I am doing "amazingly well." I don't mind admitting that is good to hear.

I cried my eyes out in her session and when I asked her what she wanted to say to me as well as listen, she said: "What can anyone say to someone who has lost the love of their life?"

Then she told me it was okay for me to be happy again.

Whaoh, that's the big one. I think I'll get back to you on that x

Thanks for reading.

Why can't I say the W word?

That's widow by the way.


There's a new book due out called A widow's guide to sex, love and relationships.

It's a novel -- not a self-help book :) -- and has reportedly bagged the writer a $700,000 advance.

Here's what author Carole Radziwill says about her work:


I couldn't help but wonder...Can sex and love co-exist peacefully? Are widows the new virgins? Are men biologically hardwired to spread their seed? The Widow’s Guide to Sex & Dating is a novel about death, sex and love, in that order.

And here's an opener about the plot:

While Claire Byrne is on a writing assignment in Texas, her philandering husband Charlie is struck dead in an absurd collision with a rare bronze sculpture. In the odd weeks that follow – funeral, Xanax, a swarthy undertaker, and mounting bills  -- Claire braces for her new life. She surrounds herself with an eccentric chorus of friends, psychics, storytellers and Jungian shrinks to guide her way. 


Described as based on real life but not autobiographical, it's tapping into a fascination with how widows relate to the opposite sex.

The salacious tome has already grabbed the sort of column inches more earnest authors can but dream of.

But it makes me feel a teensy bit queasy. When do we ever hear of widows as anything other than a stoic older woman forever living in the past or at the other extreme, a sex starved predator for whom other people's husbands are easy prey?

I'm neither and nor will I ever be.

"Are widows the new virgins?" what on earth does that mean? I don't know but I do know the answer's no.

I'm interested in finding out about how we view widows and how stereotypes may be challenged.

Do you know of anyone or anything I should read about to help me as I find out for myself what it's like to be a widow? What resources would you recommend?

I'd love to find out more -- even if I can't bring myself to say the word out loud.

Thank you.