Dr. Laura L. Walsh

Do you ever think about your...parts?  No, not those parts, you mischievous little spark plug!  I mean inside your mind - the parts that get weird ideas, warn against danger, are mean to you, and tell you to engage in late-night food rituals.  That last part might just be me.  Seriously though, I’ve been doing some research into the parts of my mind. The idea that our minds have “parts” is not a new idea. Like right now, a part of me wants to keep writing to you and another part just wants to nap. Oh the drama inside! There is one theory that explains this and it has intrigued me since grad school: Internal Family Systems.

INTERNAL FAMILY SYSTEMS (IFS) THEORY

The IFS theory believes that the mind is made up of a number of sub-personalities or parts, each with their own set of beliefs, opinions, and responses, and that interact with each other.  At the core is the Self, which has the ability to lead the parts but isn’t always up to the task.  No single part is bad but like an orchestra, the parts can be in harmony or honk cacophonously like a flock of agitated geese.

Along with the core Self, IFS sorts the other parts into categories by function: Managers, Firefighters, and Exiles.  Managers and Firefighters protect you from feeling the pain of the Exile parts.  They have the same goals but use different strategies.  Managers constrict and hold you back while Firefighters automatically react and let it rip.

MANAGERS

Manager parts proactively run the day to day operations of the system and are considered the most “acceptable” parts because they say very adult things and sound most like the core Self.  They maintain balance within you through control.  Managers parts are perfectionist, judgmental, self critical or people pleasing.  They want to prevent humiliation and abandonment by keeping you busy, criticizing what you do, worrying, sabotaging connections, and generally being a control freak.  They strongly believe in self sufficiency and are generally relentless, exacting, chastising and sometimes, anxious and depressed.  They’re really good at giving you a false sense of security by telling you it’s doing it so you’ll look good to others.  A typical Manager thought is, “You really should stop bothering people with your sob story.”

FIREFIGHTERS

Firefighters are your first responders.  They automatically fly out the door to rescue you when something hits too close to home.  They extinguish the fire of pain by smothering or creating a diversion.  They attack “enemies” and get defensive in an effort to control or suffocate emotions.  These are the parts that have anger issues, spending too much money, drink too much or use drugs, get obsessive or suicidal, self harm, or dissociate.  They like to eat too much. binge watch TV and endlessly play video games for hours.  They don’t give a crap about the goody-goody manager parts.  Those weenies don’t know what it’s like to charge heroically into danger.  Firefighters are really good at distracting you from upsetting, painful or overwhelming feelings.  A typical Firefighter part thinks it’s better to rage than to show vulnerability - even in the privacy of your own head.

EXILES

As a psychologist, I get to see other people’s Exile parts more than the average person.  I’ve developed such a knack for it that the Managers and Firefighters appear almost transparent.  When I’m interacting with someone who’s leading with one of those parts, I can see through to the Exile it’s protecting.  Just wish I could more reliably turn that super power on myself!  Exiles are the younger parts that hold pain from the past.  You compartmentalize and isolate them from the rest of the system for their safety and stability in the system.  Because of their vulnerability, they also seem kind of dangerous.  They’re the parts of you that are scared of being abandoned, get intimidated, experienced trauma, and feel a lot of shame.  This is where the Big Four live - not good enough, too much, if you really knew me, and everyone leaves.

Exiles are desperate to tell their story but Managers pessimistically believe your pain is a burden to others. Firefighters flat out refuse to put you in danger of being hurt again.  If a sad, little kid part of you revealed a disgusting longing for an authority figure’s approval during a job interview, a Firefighter part might change the subject while a Manager sabotages the rest of the meeting.  Neo-exiles are the parts we hide within close relationships.  Imagine a romantic partner or friend that gives you attention when you’re doing something nice but ignores your bids for reassurance.  You’ll shut down the needy part of you to maintain the relationship. The message from that person you tell yourself is that only your good parts are acceptable.  

THE CORE SELF

So far, we’ve been describing the orchestra - or if you’d prefer, the various departments of your business or the governmental branches of your personal nation.  Let’s switch to the head of it all - the conductor, the CEO, the President, YOU.  In the center of all of this is your core Self.  It’s a beautiful place to be.  It doesn’t need work because it’s already perfect.  It spontaneously emerges when the air is clear and all is safe.  It is the natural essence of who you are and is sheltered from damage or destruction by function of your parts.  

You know you’re in your grounded center when you feel authentically chill.  Some theories describe the Self by the 8 C’s:

Confident

Courageous

Creative

Clarity

Compassion

Calm

Curious

Connected

I know I’m in that place when nothing said or done can move me off my square.  For instance, I am confident about my intelligence.  If some bozo tried to lecture me about how I’m really a dummy, I might get a little irritated but he’s not going to shake my confidence.  Now if the same bozo flicked some booger comment about something more vulnerable, that might temporarily knock me off-center.  Note: my own managers and firefighters have censored me from revealing said vulnerability for my own protection.

WORST CASE SCENARIO

Your personal configuration and manifestation of parts was constructed to deal with your worst case scenario to date.  Since we have different histories and experiences, each set of parts is like a fingerprint of the individual.  While I’m currently working hard to lead with my core Self, recent events (i.e. the death of my wife) have thrown the system into a reorg process.  All previous worst case scenarios were blown out of the water and my mind’s company is frantically looking for new hires in two main departments.  I thought I’d give you a peek into the frenetic remodeling of my inner Self as the parts run around with their pants on fire.

Exile: [Can’t speak and just cries endlessly into the void.]

Firefighter: “Oh shit!  Their wedding song started playing overhead at the grocery store!”

Manager: “It’s fine.  Everything is fine. Close your ears, stop being a baby and don’t think about it.”

Exile: “But I can’t stop thinking!” [Stops responding as snot clogs up nose.]

Firefighter: “Leave the store!  Leave your groceries where you are!”

Exile: [Blows nose, hides in deserted health food aisle.]

Manager: “Someone could have seen you out there.  Now go check out and remember to smile at the clerk.”

Firefighter: “I think it’s a great time to call it a day and watch more episodes of Designing Women.”

These parts are obviously clueless as to what to do with this newly emerged and devastatingly sad grief Exile.  She’s a little girl part of me that either pitifully weeps or gets hulk-smash rageful.  She isn’t a new part; she’s come out of semi-retirement to hold my overwhelming grief.  She believes that everyone will leave her and she’s left on her own to figure everything out.   She thinks things like, “Why don’t people notice how sad I am???” She doesn’t know a Firefighter distracts her from feeling with a stupid magic trick while a Manager runs around pulling the curtains around her so no one sees.  All the parts are trying to help but the animals are loose at the circus.  Though the Exile doesn’t know it, she’s waiting for my core Self to step in and corral the monkeys.  My Self knows what to do if I can only find and access it.  Stepping from the shadows, my centered Self brings a soothing presence that stops the commotion and quiets the protectors.  Here’s an example:

Manager: “You should shower and do a little cleaning.  This place is a mess!”

Firefighter: “Honestly, I think eating a little cookie butter will make things better.”

Exile: “[Sobbing] Things are never going to get better!  I don’t want them to get better!”

Firefighter: “I know!  Let’s listen to Rage Against the Machine really loud in the kitchen!”

Manager: “Fine, don’t shower even though you stink.  Don’t change clothes either.  It’s not like anyone sees you anyway.”

Firefighter: “Uhhh, isn’t that friend coming over tonight?”

Manager: “Oh yeah!  He’ll certainly notice those dishes that have been in the sink for 3 days.  Just sayin’...”

Exile: “Oh no!  [Hangs head in shame] People will find out how horribly disgusting I am because I haven’t run the dishwasher or broken down and recycled the Amazon boxes.”

Firefighter: “Just throw everything in the backyard!!!”

Manager: “Stack up all the piles neatly so it looks like you wanted them there on purpose.”

SELF: “Alright, let’s think about this.  What if you broke down the boxes right now, put them outside, rinse the dishes, and filled the dishwasher all while listening to Rage Against the Machine?”

Manager: “That’s not enough but okay, fine.”

Firefighter: “Great ideas as always.  I’m going to rest up for the next emergency.”

Exile: “Thank you for listening to me.  I feel a little better and I think we can do this.”

SELF: “Great. Afterwards, everyone can take a break and zone out in front of the TV.  Now put on that music and let’s get to work.”

WHO’S IN CHARGE?

As long as there’s no one in charge, your mind is a confusing and chaotic miasma of competing needs.  Ideally, the Self steps up and takes over negotiation between the parts and directs the next steps.  However, sometimes a part fills in the leadership role.  You know you’re leading with a Manager when you feel buttoned up, intellectually sharp and emotionally numbed out.  Leading with a Firefighter part feels like a continual state of irritability and agitation and keeps you ‘at the ready’ to react to danger.  Exiles are rarely in charge because they’re really bad at it.  They collapse the system and insist on activities like staying in bed all day.

WORKING WITH YOUR SYSTEM

As with most life problems, the first step is awareness. You’ve got to get to know your parts - their personalities, beliefs, and functions - before trying to intervene in their conflicts. Like I said before, there are no bad parts - just competing beliefs and strategies. A given part feels strongly that it’s right, sees it how it really is and knows the truth. Every thought or feeling originating from a part is trying to help you out, even if it doesn’t seem that way. The part of me that says no one wants to be around me is actually trying to protect me from rejection and abandonment. Unchallenged, that part will keep me from connecting to supportive people.

OBSERVING AND IDENTIFYING PARTS

It may be difficult to put your finger on and capture a particular part.  When you’re ready, there’s a few ways to access them.  Start by being curious and non-judgmental.  Think of your centered self as just a researcher interested in data collection.  Reassure yourself that nothing has to change as you’re presently in observation mode.  

Take your emotional temperature by asking yourself how you feel right now.  Ask to see what emotions are already present and how or where your body feels with that emotion.  Observe those messages that are on repeat in your mind.  Alternatively, you can access an upsetting memory from the past and examine it.  Ask yourself, what exactly was upsetting about what happened?  Did you feel afraid, sad, anxious, angry or something else?  How did you react and what did you do?  Did you rage, freeze, numb, avoid, or try to smooth it over?  These questions will reveal clues to what was exiled and what managers and/or firefighters protected you.  If at any time your brain says, “I don’t know,” consider that another protector part and explore accordingly.

STAYING CENTERED

Once you’ve got a handful of observations, pick out one voice and interview it.  More than likely, you’ll be talking to a protector - probably a manager.  Getting it talking by asking what it believes and it’s job in the system.  Ask how old it is and what it looks like.  A voice that says. “This isn’t fair,” may believe you get dumped on more than most and thinks the job is to  protest on your behalf.  It may show up as a finger wagging old man who suggests that something must be wrong with you because this keeps happening.  What’s protective about this voice?  What kind of Exile is it defending?  Be gentle with digging down to the Exiled little kid part underneath.  Kids are delicate and need protecting.  If you find yourself continuing to have strong emotions or becoming reactive, you’ve likely run into another manager or firefighter.  Interview and explore this part before moving deeper.  We can’t access, validate and utilize the burdened exiles without honoring how the system set itself up to protect us.

Once you’re working with a particular part, another angle is to check back in with your calm and centered Self.  What do you understand about the part?  What do you think is going on?  Can you find empathy and appreciation for the part?  Even our nastiest parts work really hard on our behalf.  A critical voice is mean but its heart is in the right place.  An obsessive or addictive part is trying to soothe the system in the best and only ways it knows so far.

TRUSTING RELATIONSHIPS

Getting to know your parts is the process of creating trusting relationships between them and the Self.  This is the next step in the process of converting your protectors and split-off exiles into your allies.  Think about how trust is built with other people: consistent interactions, listening to and honoring what’s said, believing their words are important - even when you don’t understand.  That’s exactly how we build rapport with the different parts of ourselves.  It may be scary or unpleasant to get close to your inner critic or the tightly-wound explosive rage but it’s a vital step.  Like a good CEO or President, once your core Self begins to get everyone on board, it’s easier to know what to do when life throws you the next curveball.

I’ve got a story for you from back when my wife was still alive.  I left to go grocery shopping but stopped in at the craft store to shop for just myself.   This nagging little voice kept popping up but I successfully shoved it back down at the craft store.   Entering the grocery store a short time later, I could no longer ignore a little girl voice on repeat: “She’s going to be mad at you!” Sighing, I got centered and engaged it.  Here’s how the conversation went:

Little Girl: “She’s going to be mad at you!”

SELF: “Okay, well, we can handle that.  Why will she be mad at me?”

Little Girl: “Because you took too much time at the craft store.”

SELF: “Why is that a big deal to you?  What are you feeling?”

Little Girl: “I’m worried she’ll be mad and call you selfish because you took time for yourself.”

SELF: “Okay, well if that happens, I’ll take care of it.  You don’t have to explain it to her.  I don’t think she’ll actually be mad but if she is, I’ll be in charge.  How does that sound?”

Little Girl: “I’m still worried but I’ll try it your way.”

SELF: “Great. Thank you for trusting me. No matter what, it will be okay.”

This is the actual transcription of me engaging with a worried part.  For the record, it’s not grounded in current reality.  Naturally, Patty would be concerned if I hadn’t returned from shopping if it had been a few hours but she wouldn’t be mad.  I already had a relationship with this part - the Little Girl.  She’s about 5 or 6 and feels too small and powerless to change things in the world.  She’s used to being  dismissed and pulls at my sleeve to warn me about all the monsters lurking in the shadows.  She’s protected by another part - my rebellious teenager.  If I’m not gentle with the Little Girl, the Rebel leaps to her defense and commandeer the entire system.  The Rebel says things like, “Oh no, you fucking didn’t just do that!  I’ll show you!” and promptly turns off all inhibition and motivation and steers us back to the craft store to buy $100 worth of crap.  I’ve learned my lesson - listen to and trust the Little Girl, or else it’ll cost me.

YOUR PARTS IN GRIEF

I’m still getting to know and lead the parts of me as they grieve.  As with outside life, my internal life was thrown into disarray after Patty died.  I had all the parts nicely organized, productive, and had good working relationships with all.  Death took my puny little shoebox diorama on the inside of my mind and… shook it up really hard.   I was so proud of my hand painted little figurines, all precisely glued in their rightful places.  A manager most assuredly came up with that idea.  Now, there’s a part of me that just wants to toss the whole thing and another part that’s picking up each piece, crying over its brokenness.  

I’m a big fan of thinking outside the box. We cannot possibly know everything there is to know and science is generally still evolving. Traumatic events change our lens on the world. As a protection, we see danger everywhere. Healing trauma is about restoring peace and evolving.

Tim McHenry of the Rubin Museum of Art hosted a discussion between Psychic Medium Laura Lynne Jackson and Buddhist psychiatrist Dr. Mark Epstein on the nature and healing of trauma. There are so many great thoughts between them. Even if you don’t believe in the paranormal, this talk offers a different approach to life.

Watch the entire discussion here:

I don’t generally like people or publicly sharing my business with strangers.  I’m not what you’d call a joiner.  Usually, I’m pretty self contained.  Connecting with someone new takes a lot of introvert brain power for me.  Historically, dredging my insides for something meaningful to share isn’t usually worth the effort.  However.  This grief thing is different.  A refugee from my old life, I’m full to the brim, spilling sloppy feelings and overflowing with crap I need to express.  Instead of letting loose on the innocent young Target employee who told me he’s having a “hard” day, I’ve resorted to the company of internet strangers.  Resist as I might, I can’t help but trust fall backwards into their supportive web.

Concerns of the Rapidly Changing Mind

Even with people who know me really well, I’m worried they won’t get it.  Don’t get me wrong - they want to but seriously, I can be intense.  Expressing myself comes out as this weird jangle of thoughts, loosely held together inside an empty toilet paper roll.  I fear any supportive friend will miss the theme and fail to reorder my thoughts more sensibly.  I can’t really blame them. Blank stare.  Or worse, they’ll see the mess I just dumped in their lap and come to a different meaning than I intended.  Egads!  Or even worse, they’ll be overwhelmed and resort to a trite platitude that feels minimizing and dismissive.  MAKE IT STOP!  Like, I hate it when I’m told it just takes time or that I’m grieving really well.  I want the A+, right?  Seems weird that an overachiever would reject praise.  I acknowledge it is difficult to comfort my ardent and rapidly changing mind.

I decided to look outside my circle.  Give them a little break.  Where could I find recruits for my latest grief recovery project?  Ideally, I’d locate another (youngish) stepmom, lesbian, widow of cop who suddenly went delusional and died by suicide….in Chicago.  Turns out, those are rare.  On Facebook, I’m in a stepmom group but it's not exactly the appropriate forum to process your partner’s death.  Cringe.  Populated with survivors of depression suicide loss, even suicide support groups didn’t quite hit the mark.  My wife is special.  Frequent breakdowns meant I had to compromise.  Being widowed checked a lot of boxes so I reluctantly started there.

Sisyphean Phoenix of the Echo Chamber

Left to my own devices, I’d stay isolated in my mind’s echo chamber.  Trust me, not a pretty place.  In the chamber, the scorched ruins of my past life are undisturbed.  Broken support beams and irreplaceably charred fragments of my former existence form a cacophonous theme song - a sad tune on repeat.  Pain builds like storm clouds returning at intervals to shower a fire that’s already extinguished.  It’s a sisyphean phoenix - rolling my old life up the hill only for it to burn down all over again at the top.  Brutal.

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Stepping It Up Like a Baby

Joining the Hot Young Widows Club (HYWC) was the first baby step into working on my mess.  As nothing on the internet is truly private, I was loath to disclose details of my inner turmoil for fear of exposure. What if I was too weird?  What if someone screenshotted and exposed details of my secret story?  Starting small, I began commenting on others’ posts.  That didn’t last long.  I knew I’d soon hijack someone’s thread if I didn’t jump into disclosure with both feet.  Not baby steps, I know.  I shared the full monty AND pictures of us (fully clothed).  I was off to the races!  Just as I’m finding my stride, the next step was worrying over posting and commenting too much.  Not every post needs your profound insight, Laura.  I swear, sometimes I just can’t win with this brain.

As I began to share my experience, my concerns included the following, 1) No one cares, 2) No one is listening, 3) Too weird to connect, and the worst one, 4) Uncomfortable with aspects of my identity.  Big ‘ole lezzie cop widow.  Police officers are kinda on the shitlist right now but I was really attached to the one I married.  Laying bare my business for all to see, I braced for another round of invisibility and dismissal.  Would anyone even like what I had to say?

Sharing is Hard!

Good news!  Turns out, the wids on HYWC are amazing weirdos.  Affectionately, my wife would say I’ve found the island of broken toys.  Give a widow the opportunity to share honestly and watch out!  Captivated by each story, I extract dazzling, brilliant insights to add to my collection. For every strange comment or question, someone chimes in with something weirder.  I love it.  I felt like the Bee Girl at the end of Blind Melon’s No Rain video.  Like me, she’s elated to find her squad.  Side note: yellow isn’t my color so picture me in a blue tutu instead.  For the record, I acknowledge not giving enough credit for widespread acceptance of my gay gay gay marriage to a short but fiesty, lady cop.  I should have trusted you sooner.  Maybe I was wrong about strangers?  

I will admit to a bit of trial and error.  My first foray into support from strangers was a Facebook widows’ group.  Technically all ages, duration and types of relationships, and ostensibly, lezzies like me, the most vocal members were much older straight ladies immersed in long term grief.  Nothing wrong with that; just not my demographic.  I got paranoid anytime I posted something referencing suicide or my “wife,” as it seemed I got fewer likes than other’s posts in the group.  I’m embarrassed to admit I wanted the likes. As a sensitive, newly created widow, an unacknowledged post was more devastating proof no one gets me.  Hindsight says I just needed them to validate the existence of my pain.  Ugh.  Worse was, I couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined unpopularity - couldn’t talk myself out of the paranoia.  Sigh.

Is This Normal?

Luckily, I found a better fit in HYWC.  We’re not all young and hot but with a Snapchat filter, anything is possible.  For the record, there’s all types there too but it’s different.  There’s something about paying the one-time $25 fee and obtaining the stamp of ‘verified widow’ (they don’t say that but they do verify).  It screens for a key variable - those who dedicate resources to working on their shit.  Hallelujah. The cost is low and they have scholarships so it’s not about money.  Possibly, it’s the most desperately suffering widows who sign up but my bigger point is that everyone is seeking relief from their pain.  That’s relatable to me.

So... I share my weird thoughts, tricks of my brain, and sad songs.  Side note, any tune can be a grief song if you listen hard enough.  When I post, I’m still taking a chance.  I’m releasing a little hope balloon to the universe.  It’s possible no one will respond but more likely that someone will.  I ask variations on, “Is this normal?” and get a resounding yes no matter what.  I don’t think they’re blowing smoke up my ass and it still helps so I don’t even care.  They’ve saved my life.

Credit Union of Grief

Carved from tragedy, widowhood is a strong shove into an alternate reality.  This new life still looks like yours but a significant person is absent.  Throws everything off, believe me.  No matter how your partner dies, it takes some...adjustment.  After your life is set on fire, you’ve got two choices: pick up the pieces or die trying.  Should you eventually elect for the first choice, you can’t help but rebuild with more depth, understanding and acceptance.  Intimidating.  Piece by piece, we tightly hold onto the carbonized remains of our past lives until it’s pressed into diamonds.  Putting one foot in front of the other has shifted the value of each like and comment for me - they’re now the sparkling jewels of my renewing confidence.  

Sharing yourself is an investment.  I’m making deposits into the community grief savings account.  It’s a credit union so there’s a more forgiving credit standard. Each post or considerate response is my emotional contribution.  Painstakingly created or uncovered, I embed my own cherished gems into my writing.   My essays are handmade gifts for you.  I hope you like them.

Wisdom of the Grief Kaleidoscope

Grieving people compile and curate wisdom.  Together, their perspectives form a sort of grief kaleidoscope.   Whenever I’m stuck, the multiplicity in this lens helps me find clues to a different reality. Someone else surely has a different take.  For instance, one way of looking at grief like a boulder.  At first, it’s too heavy and awkward to carry.  Over time, the boulder doesn’t get smaller but we get stronger.  There’s nothing to let go of or get over.  We learn to carry it with us.  Another nugget is treating grief like it is a baby.  It needs care and comfort and sometimes cries for no reason.  Like all feelings, grief is a message.  It’s a comment on love lost.  Whoa, is it talkative!  Listening is the work of active mourning.  For me, the goal is to survive this transformation and remember my wife with love instead of a flood of tears.  Right now, I’m becoming a phoenix strong enough to carry the boulder.

Shared Wisdom Creates Connection

As private and self sufficient as most grievers are, we cannot get through this alone.  It’s only by telling our stories and hearing others that we change.  And we should change.  Don’t tell me your dead loved one wants you to feel this crappy for the rest of your life.  Unless your person was a miserable asshole, it’s more likely they’d tell you to can the sentimental sap-fest and get on with it.  Now, I’m not saying don’t be sad but please, don’t let suffering become your way of honoring the dead.  Deep down, I think my wife would want me to be really sad for like, a day.  Pay appropriate homage in a short, well written eulogy so she could hear how much she meant to me.  Then she’d want me to be happy and only break down occasionally.  You know, for reassurance.  

I believe every human has inherent dignity, value and worth.  There are no throw away people.  I am all for fighting against injustice and inequality.  I'm a left leaning, "classic liberal" and have given a lot of thought and discussion to what that means for me and the world.  Multiple grad school classes on racial/ethnic, religious and sexual/gender identities sparked a desire to evolve my beliefs and opinions.  As a resident of Chicago, poverty and gun violence are issues dear to my heart.  

I married into a police family.  My wife was a Detective, serving 21 years before her death by suicide earlier this year.   Our extended family includes multiple first responders.  Until I became a cop’s wife, I had the privilege of never having to think about what it’s like to be in law enforcement.  Trained as a woke psychologist, I found myself faced with the challenge of understanding the world of law enforcement just as the Black Lives Matter movement was emerging.

So many stories

Stationed in the heart of the west side of Chicago, my wife’s commute home took her past a long line of people outside a homeless shelter.   Waiting to see if they’ll get a bed that night, they stood for hours in the rain, shine, or brutal cold of our winters.  She and her fellow officers cleared extra space in the lobby of her district building and bought sandwiches for families who “camped out” there at night.  My wife gave money, food, and time to disenfranchised people.  She often contrasted the slacktivism she saw on social media with her everyday experiences.

I have so many stories but one that stands out is helping a dude she met while he was begging for change on the corner near the highway ramp.  He’d been in an accident on the job, lost his leg and became addicted to pain pills.  Following a woman and heroin, he found himself across the country from his home in Denver.  He was now clean and trying to get back home.  She spent time discussing with him about what he thought he needed and supported him as he got back on track.

Just another day On the job

You should probably know more about her job.  She worked homicides, rapes, and child sexual abuse cases.  She carried dead babies to the morgue in her arms.  She saved many lives as an FBI-trained SWAT hostage negotiator.  Her eyes saw so many traumatic scenes.  At the end of her career, she worked high profile financial crime cases of famous people and politicians as well as low profile identity theft and exploitation of the elderly.  She gave equal weight and importance to the loss, whether it was a person, millions of dollars or a tiny, wiped-out savings account.  

We would spend weekend mornings solving Chicago’s problems over coffee.  We’d drill down into the root of issues, see the systematic fault lines, and emerge speculating on what one individual could do.  She was well read and a deep thinker.  I couldn’t have been with my wife if I thought she was racist, mean or even thoughtless and inconsiderate. 

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My wife saw the struggle of those who both hated the cops but still depended on them.  People in these blighted neighborhoods called 911 for anything from needing a ride to a doctor’s appointment, reporting a gang shoot out on their block, to getting their teenager to behave.  Frustrated, my wife still recognized the reasons on-lookers claimed there were no witnesses to a crime.  

The Court of public opinion

Public opinion stressed us both out.  Demonstrators outside her building chanted for weeks, “Fuck the police” and “Kill all the pigs!”  She believed in their right to protest but it wore on her.  It’s rough to be hated.  She often heard the firecracker sound of AK-45’s right outside her building. Her walk to the parking lot was fraught with hypervigilance for her own safety.  She had long, patient conversations with angry crime victims explaining how, even if they both knew who did the crime, the constitution requires evidence.  She worked many hours withstanding insults of motherfucker, fucking pig, and stupid dyke.  Who could keep this up?

You might be tempted to think she was special, different.  While she was an excellent detective, her experiences aren’t unique.  Our culture merely sees the badge, painting police with a wide brutality brush.  Careful not to generalize, we’ll rightly proclaim that one terrorist is not representative of all Muslims or that not all young black men are gang bangers.  Seeing all police as the same is inconsistent and when “one bad apple spoils the bunch,” abuse is justified.  Holding my coffee mug, I muse over a world where, instead of picking convenient targets,  we’re all united against criminal acts.

After 21 years, my wife had a huge network of colleagues (all good apples) who helped her gather evidence and solve crimes. Laughing at the idea of a “code of silence,” she claimed police officers weren’t that organized.  It just didn’t make sense to put herself on the hook for someone she didn’t even know.  She wasn’t a fan of CPD as a whole (mostly the upper ranks) but respected individual officers.  She prided herself on acknowledging who was both an asshole and still did a good job.  She’d say, “He’s a jagoff but a great detective,” or “She’s cheating on her husband but she knows the law and does her job well.”  While acknowledging the need for change, her overall assessment was that most cops were good (or good enough).  Like any organization or group, there’s always good and bad.  If an individual cop stole, assaulted, or used excessive force, they gave up the title of law enforcement officer and are now a criminal. You could not be both.

The worst of times

I miss her protection and wise words, especially through the ordeal of rioters and looters through our city this summer.  We would have had SO MANY THINGS to discuss.  At the same time, it’s likely she would have been deployed to the streets as other family members were.  She would do her job, regardless of whether she agreed with the crowd or was protecting business owners from destruction and looting.  She’d be frustrated on behalf of lawful protestors whose message was thwarted by the criminal acts of a nearly indistinguishable crowd.  Instead I’m left alone with my own frustrations, thinking about how scary it must be for these cops swarmed by angry, rioting crowds.  

I once had a client ask me what single act could make the world better.  My immediate reply was, “Empathy.”  Empathy is the active choice to step into another’s shoes and take a look around through that person’s eyes.  Public opinion leads us to believe there's a limited amount of empathy to go around.  The implicit message claims empathy for police officers diminishes the plight of Black folks.  When I’ve expressed my own empathy for cops, I’m ignored or dismissed as a crazy right wing Trump lover.  This could not be farther from the truth.  Why do we have to pick sides?

Police are called during someone’s worst times.  Like parents, we’ve tasked them to enforce limits and boundaries while witnessing and absorbing pain.  Therapists are taught how to release this pain.  Unless we teach officers how to do the same, a sort of emotional debris accumulates.  In reality, both police and the communities they serve experience extreme trauma.  It’s not a competition.  No doubt, my wife carried this debris to her death.

There’s enough empathy for all

Two (or more) things can be true at once; we are not limited to understanding only one group.  In fact, I’d argue getting inside and understanding the police’s perspective benefits oppressed people (and vice versa).  It clears up misunderstandings and humanizes actions.  We can do this without making monsters of either side.  Currently, I find delving into the world of Men’s Rights Activists, Incels, and extreme right or left wing groups illuminating and I’m smarter for it.  What reasons does a person have for thinking and feeling how they do?  How does their perspective make sense to them?  I don’t have to agree to understand.  

Anger is a necessary stage of grief.  Right?  It may be the therapist in me but I can’t get mad at my dead wife.  Technically, it’s her fault that she’s dead (by suicide).  I’ve got no beef with her because I understand.  And you can too.

I recently read “Suicidal: Why We Kill Ourselves” by psychologist Jesse Bering.  Ok fine, I listened to the audiobook while doing yard work.  I found the book oddly satisfying and peaceful.  Death has that effect on people - especially horrible deaths.  The really sad things end up….well, validating.  It makes us morbid and we want to talk about gross stuff.   It can also make us really funny - like the beautiful charm of my dead wife’s thumbprint on a necklace.  IT’S A CHERISHED KEEPSAKE!  It doesn’t matter that the print was taken posthumously.  As the widow, you have to agree with me.

Dr. Bering’s book is a mix of academic research and personal stories.  He touches on Baumeister’s stage theory of suicide first described in the 1990 article “Suicide as escape from self.”  Dr. Berring applies Baumeister’s stages to the diary of a young woman who died by suicide.  On the outside, the young woman appeared successful and happy.  On the inside, she was suffering.  Her journal entries follow a predictable pattern, describing the downward spiral towards her death.  

As you know, suicide is a bit of a soapbox for me.  Baumeister’s steps bring order to a chaotic experience.  For me, it shifted how I thought of events before Patty died.  Instead of thinking of it as a series of choices she made, her death became something that happened to her.  Understanding the progressive stages of suicidal thinking makes the process knowable.  It doesn’t answer the bigger question of why bad things happen but it’s a start.

To my fellow suicide loss survivors - this doesn’t mean you missed something.  Obviously, we did because, you know...but let’s take the young woman as an example.  It only became evident to her parents in retrospect.  We only see the whole picture once we’ve put the puzzle together.  In the middle, there’s not enough information to know anything for sure.  However, these stages do provide important information for more effective prevention.

I was trying to think of the perfect blend of dark humor and suicide education.  It’s actually not that funny aside from one liners like, “Thanks for your help!  I would have asked my wife but dang it, she killed herself,” or “Patty and I had planned to move south for retirement but she retired early.”  The best I can do is give you interesting information and hope this helps you understand your loved one.  Here’s my interpretation of the stages:

Stage 1: Falling short of Unrealistic Standards

An earthquake event creates what I call the tsunami.  Something big happens- bad news, a diagnosis, loss or divorce, or a critical tipping point.  It crashes over and overwhelms you.  We’ve all had this happen to us.  How we deal with it comes down to locus of control - in other words, who gets the blame and responsibility.  Generally, everyone is inclined to either believe the world acts upon you (externalizing) or you act upon the world (internalizing).  The objective truth lies somewhere in the middle.   In the extreme, externalizers point to everyone else as the cause of their misery while internalizers put themselves at risk by hoarding all the blame for themselves.  

Stage 2: Attributions of Self

Taking blame and responsibility is power.  However, some internalizers also have unrealistically high expectations of themselves.   Realistically, sometimes things just happen to us (i.e. the world acts upon us) and there’s no one to blame.  An internalizer’s downfall is believing they have more power than they do.  Some complex experiences can’t be fixed by one person and internalizing individuals believe this is a personal failure.  This is a point of intervention if the person can catch it.  Otherwise, it’s the kindling of despair and low self esteem.  

Stage 3: Heightened Aversive Self Awareness

Now that the individual has absorbed more blame and responsibility than they can possibly manage, they cannot help fixating on the painful awareness of failures.   An unintended result is withdrawing and detaching from the support of friends and family.   As these connections are lost, the individual feels trapped  inside a thick wall of glass.  Unable to receive help or shift to the bigger picture, the individual turns further inward.  Without access to perspective and social support, they begin running out of options.   

Stage 4: Negative Affect

A downward spiral builds on negativity from the previous stages.  The awareness of perceived inadequacies is now excruciating.  Coupled with social detachment, the individual feels completely alone with their now unsolvable problems.  The pain, endless and unbearable, gradually overwhelms their ability to cope.  

Stage 5: Cognitive Deconstruction

Escape from their own mind is the one last, stopgap strategy.  Now detached from their internal struggle, the person avoids or rejects the pursuit of answers or meaning.  Time slows down as a switch from future thinking to each current moment occurs.  “Going through the motions” temporarily numbs painful emotions as the individual distracts from the pain with mindless, concrete functions like chores, simple games, or mundane tasks.  Tightly holding back the tide of painful thoughts takes all their emotional energy.  Little consideration is given to friends or family and the individual may see themselves as a burden.

Stage 6: Disinhibition

In this last stage, the person can only think in black-or-white.  The pain inside the glass prison has no time - no beginning or end.  Substance use, careless or risky behaviors, self harm, and social passivity are signs of impaired reasoning.  After exhausting all other strategies, the individual concludes it comes down to  inescapable pain or death.  No one could endure this level of  unremitting pain for long.   Resigned and accepting their impending death, the individual’s pain tolerance increases and their fear of death crumbles.  

Passing through these stages may take months or even days with significant overlap between them.  In retrospect, I can see my wife moving quickly through each of these stages over a handful of days.  She didn’t know what was happening and neither did we.  One of the reasons we don’t always recognize this process is precisely what makes it fundamentally human - the individual is trying to solve their problems.  It’s instinctive to seek options to ease our own pain.   How can we tell when someone crosses that razor fine line between coping and the downward spiral when it looks the same?

It’s important to understand that a death by suicide is something that happened to your loved one rather than a series of rational choices.  Inside the experience of intense pain, time stops, rational thought leaves you and the options narrow.  We’re not inside their heads but we can map out the path they took.  Consider this: imagine you’ve lost something precious down a deep well.  You climb down inside, searching ever deeper for it.  You know it’s there but you can’t find it.  Darkness falls and now you’re stuck clinging to the wall.   How deep is the well?  No one hears your cries for help.  You’re cold and your muscles are giving out.  How long could you hold on?

A reasonable person with perspective does not choose death.   Yet as a culture, we still lay blame and responsibility in the dead person’s lap.  What we don’t understand, we externalize.  They decided to kill themselves, right?  This assumption lacks empathy.  The raw fact is in a similar situation, we might make the same “choice” as well.  Everyone has a limit.

After my wife died, the pain of losing her has been intense and unyielding.  I longed to be with her.  My own death seemed the only choice to accomplish this goal.  If she’d dealt with her pain by running off to Antarctica, I’d want to follow her there.  What has protected me from following the path we’ve outlined?  

For starters, I see life from a different angle.   While I’m an internalizer, I also give the world it’s fair share of responsibility.  Sometimes shit just happens and life isn’t fair.  As a recovering control freak, I now acknowledge my high need for control - and the limits of it.  Most of the time, I control by choosing not to fight.  

Our motivations are different as well.  What pushed her down the path was a tangle of events she found too complicated to resolve.  Similarly, I too have a complicated tangle of grieving her while sorting out the estate, comforting the kids, and making very difficult choices for my life.  

One big difference between me and most people is that I never fail.  It’s not that I don’t make mistakes, of course; it’s what I do with these adverse experiences.  In my mind, they are puzzles to solve.  Even as an optimist, I’ve had to work on that mindset.  Understanding something is powerful.  It also strips away anger.  Following knowledge to the root brings clarity.  I just don’t feel angry towards my wife because she didn’t choose to leave us.  She was trying to relieve a terrible pain with the only methods she knew.  She didn’t understand the implications herself.

I love to invent stuff and grief gives me quite the creative boost.  All that thinking and theorizing, ya know?  The whys and what-if’s?  My biggest hurdle is lack of follow through.  Even before my wife died, the list of crazy ideas grew long and dusty inside my note taking app.  Like, what if we could put a filter in underwear that muffled both the noise and smell of farts?  Or it would be cool if we could rewind the radio.  Better yet, rewind actual conversations.  You know, to remember someone’s name or mumble something a little less awkward?

Deciding to showcase some of my collection, I put together a brief description and marketing blurb for a few of them.  I’d love some consumer feedback!  If one of them takes off, maybe I’ll raise money with a sad kickstarter starring Tina Fey as me.  My body isn’t summer-ready yet and frankly, I’m not doing this to get famous.  In the meantime, let me know what you think of these ideas:

Sunglass Tear blotters

Grief is sad!  Avoid stranger pity stares by catching unexpected tears with our absorbent inserts.  Resting just inside large dark sunglasses, these pads sit unobtrusively on your cheeks, leaving you high and dry.  Especially handy for funerals, grocery stores playing the hits, and running into that random acquaintance who’s just hearing about your loss!

Aromatherapy Candles

Distill the comforting smell of your dead loved one’s unwashed clothes into a one-of-a-kind aroma!  This patented technology sucks the molecules of sweat pheromones, combining them with essential oils to trigger your best memories.  Now offering room sprays!

Shrine in a Box

Don’t have time or energy to shop?  Our ready-made shrine comes complete with enough photo frames to display your top five memories, special crystals proven to increase grief dreams by 5% guaranteed, an incense burner, and your choice of glow in the dark Mary (Mother of God) statue or for atheists, a lotus flower (also glow in the dark).  Just unpack and set it up (photos not included)!

Customized Ouija Board

Longing for answers to those lingering questions?  Wondering if your loved one is sending you signs?  Reach out and touch your someone now!  Choose from preloaded phrases like, “Yes, that was me,” “Heaven will be better when you get here,” “Your butt looks good in those jeans,” “My phone password is _____” or make your own!  Has your spouse been dead awhile?  Get the dedicated griever version by Hallmark™ with reassurances like, “Did you change your name to Wifi, ‘cause I’m feeling that connection!”  “If I had a nickel every time I thought of you….uh, we don’t use money here,” and “Is that an angel over there or did my wife just die?” 

WidowWearz Clothing Line

Tired of the same black t-shirt?  This everyday wear is functional yet fashionable.  Choose from leggings (with pockets!) that grow or shrink with your appetite.  From meeting with attorneys to a quick jog down to the cemetery, we’ve got wrinkle free pants for every occasion.  Choose colors that reflect your mood or how well you knew the deceased.  New for 2020 - send our “heart bandaid” patterned boxers to harmlessly flirt with your favorite widower hottie!

Build-A-Spouse Body Pillow

Fill up your dreams by filling up that empty side of the bed!  This amazing service stuffs your mate’s favorite shirt/pants combo creating the perfect lifelike substitute. Complete the look with customizable yarn hair.  Purchase today and receive a free upgrade!  As you’re tossing and turning at night, listen to the soothing voice of your partner’s last voicemail programmed into a squeezable insert!  Caution, bodily fluids may stain as materials are not water resistant.

If these products actually existed, I’d be tempted to spend some of that life insurance money.  I’d get a body pillow with a never ending smell insert.  The more I think about it, I suspect it would not be my healthiest move.  Where does it stop?  I imagine myself ordering one of those reborn baby dolls customized with our Snapchat face swap pics so it looks like both of us.

I’m really frustrated that COVID has gotten in the way of my grief achievements.  I figured 3 months in, I’d be doing the television talk show circuit, sold my book, and set up a non-profit foundation.  If only this pandemic hadn’t gotten in my way.

In my life before, if I spent too much time alone (like, over 4 hours), I’d start texting my sister-in-law that I was unsupervised and feral.  Uh oh.  I’d start going down rabbit holes and come up with weird stuff like how buff male kangaroos get.  Or questioning if my parents were really married since I couldn’t find a record of their union in the limited online databases. I could have paid for real records but I’m cheap.  I know, sounds crazy.  

But now, I’m alone for long stretches of time.  I’ve managed to channel some of this agitated energy into writing essays that speak to weirdos like me (shout out to my fellow weirdos!).  I spend hours researching (me-searching as we said in grad school) and discovering overachieving methods to dam the waters of my new spouse-less life.

I’m not just your average widow.  Oh no no no.  Of course, I have to be special so allow me to tack on some extra layers - lesbian, stepmom, and young (-ish, right?).  At 45, I have finally found a way to inch back towards the youth and relevance lost as you enter the fourth decade of life.  Today, I’d like to let you into the wonders of lesbianism.

I’m going to assume you’re not submerged in this subculture so I’ll tell you some secrets.  People are fascinated by lesbians.  To be fair, we live pretty mysterious lives.  We leave you hanging on profound questions like who takes out the trash and how do they have sex without a woody woodpecker? Sometimes, other communities get lumped in with us but they are actually quite different.  Of these witches, spinsters, and women who wear comfortable shoes, I only belong to only one of those so far.  I’m working on my stovetop skills and hope to someday conjure a penis.  Not a real one; that would be weird.

Amazon’s book market best represents the variable interests of our fan club members.  Right after my wife died, I launched a search for books on “lesbian widows.”  You’d think the algorithms would have pegged me by now (ha ha).  I was dismayed yet amused by the grand interpretation of what Amazon thought I meant.  The following is an unedited list of the top books recommended for me to purchase under these auspicious terms:

Lesbian Widows: Invisible Grief

by Victoria Whipple (Kindle $25.98, Paperback $46.95, Hardcover $907.71)

I’m impressed that the first one actually included my search terms but dang, it’s expensive to be a lesbian widow.  To be fair, you can rent it for $9.21 a month.  It’s also terribly niche within an already  small niche - invisible lesbian widows?  Published in 2014, you’d think it would be a little more hip.  Maybe it’s because I live in Chicago but even as an introvert, I’m decently visible.  Still, glad it exists and appeals to all eight people who each gave it a 5-star rating.

The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows: Feminine Pursuits

by Olivia Waite (Kindle $3.99, Paperback $6.99)

I must quote the basic plot description for you to get the full impact of this novel: “The last thing the widow wants is to be the victim of a thousand bees. But when a beautiful beekeeper arrives to take care of the pests, Agatha may be in danger of being stung by something far more dangerous…”  The cover depicts said wapish widow sit/leaning against her handsome, pants suit-clad beekeeper.  At the much less expensive price for kindle and paperback, I’m only slightly put off by labeling bees as pests.

Odd women?: Spinsters, lesbians and widows in British women's fiction, 1850s–1930s

by Emma Liggins (Kindle $73.24, Hardcover $95.00)

The period is a little off but at least it includes diverse, international women.  I was looking for a self help book but this seems slightly more academic.  Not sure why there’s a question mark in the title as there’s no question about our oddity.  The description reads, “Women outside heterosexual marriage in this period were seen as abnormal, superfluous, incomplete and threatening, yet were also hailed as ‘women of the future’.”  Aw shucks, I *am* ahead of my time.  Dang that price tag!  No renting option for this one.

The Grass Widow

by Nanci Little (Kindle $0.00, Paperback $14.95)

It’s unclear where we’ll find the lesbian widow in this 2010 novel but the description yields some mild foreshadowing: “As a familiar civilization fades into the distance, she is nineteen, unmarried and pregnant, and has no reason to think that the year 1876 won't be her last...Joss, in her brother's clothes and severely lacking in social graces, has no time to mollycoddle a pampered, pregnant New England lady. It's work or starve, literally. There are no servants, no laborers - just a failing farm, impending winter and the two of them to face it together.”  It sounds like the shameless Joss needs her own dose of mollycoddling (wink, wink) to get through the chilly nights.

Her Widow

by Joan Alden (Paperback $18.00)

More popular with 10 people giving it an almost stellar rating, this tomb’s immodest summary insists it belongs on every bookshelf.  YOU WILL PAY ATTENTION TO US!  That’s how I read it.  Seriously, of all the books this one comes the closest to what I actually wanted.  Waiting for the kindle unlimited edition….(having no man money makes us frugal).

Made For You 3

by K. Shantel (Kindle $4.99)

Apparently, Made For You 1 and 2 were not as popular. Despite the fair price, this tale omits widows opting for the groundbreaking combination of lesbian romance and football.  While tragedy surely threads through this plot, it falls short of crossing the threshold from football to death (it probably does).  Shocker, I defy the sporty lesbian trope and instead prefer to spend time among my vast, treasured collection of power tools.  Just to be clear, I mean the ones for home repair (get your mind out of the gutter!)  If the lady protagonists of this book had been thrown together building a Habitat for Humanity house with their 10 dogs using only their Subaru to transport lumber, I might be more captivated.

The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics, Book 1 of 1: Feminine Pursuits Series

by Olivia Waite (Kindle $3.99, Paperback $6.99)

I’ll give the author the benefit of believing there are more to come in the series. The title of this one intrigues me (I may steal it later) but sadly, it also defaults to worn stereotypes.  This collection of lesbian tropes finds my kin scoring yet another toaster for the conversion of a hapless straight lady.  Lesbians for the win!  Lady Reads-A-Lot gave it 5 stars and commented, “This was poetic and lovely, full of beautiful descriptions that knew exactly how to leave you breathless and then stop just before tipping into tedious.”  I’m guessing she means the sex scenes?  If you’ve ever watched any real lesbian porn, you know that it’s far better for the participants than the viewers.

Erotica: The Forbidden Adventures Of A Grieving Widow (Seduction, Lust, Lesbian Sex, Interracial Sex, Bondage and More)

by Amy King (Kindle $0.00)

This one is hands down, my favorite title and you can’t beat the price.  The author keeps the marketing short to sell you her novel: “All Ava wanted was to erase the memory of her recently departed husband. Little did she know that in trying to do so, she would experience mind-blowing adventures and lust across the globe. Ava would never be the same again as she ravenously eats up whatever adventure blows her way.”  Even though it’s another toaster novel, as a grieving widow ‘ravenously eats up’ does resonate.  I don’t think she means jars of cookie butter.

Of the eight masterpieces on the list, five are romance novels, one is academic, and two are in the ballpark (excuse the sports metaphor).  Scrolling further only yields more erotica including another novel titled, “Football Widows (lesbian)” by Amanda Mann and Deadlier Than the Male Publications.  Now I get it that we make up a small percentage of the population but this is some seriously messed up shit.  

Removing the lesbian and searching only for ‘widow’ yields twenty pages of books. I know what you’re thinking - “C’mon Laura, what’s the big deal?  Just get the standard widow book.”  And believe me, I’ve amassed quite the collection and am waiting for just the right intersection of not too devastated but ready to sob.  Bear with me for a sec - think about how we just want to be seen when we’re at our lowest.  When I first typed those words into the search bar, I just wanted something that used wife instead of husband.  

Ever had an imaginary fight with someone in your head?  With the perfect mic-drop closer, your witty one liners shut down the assholes left and right.  My wife and I shared our best ones with each other.  Usually inappropriate, harsh, or pot stirring, our “fantasy conversations” were unlaunched snowballs.  Admiring each others’ perfect spheres was processing.

These fantasies also avoided telling the other what she should have done.  Sidestepping many marital arguments, it evolved a way to show support.  It starts with, “Babe, I had another fantasy conversation with _________.”  Using babe is optional and doesn’t change the effect.  If you’re in a hurry and want to capture the moment, start with, “In my fantasy, I say ________!”  Feel free to swap out the word fantasy for pretend, daydream, or imaginary.  Words like fake detract from the cold power of a fictitious splat.

You might enjoy a sampling of my most recent musings.  Normally whole conversations, I’ve condensed these for maximum amusement.  In order to protect the ignorant, I declare the following statements are entirely fiction as no one would actually utter these words.  But just in case, I’ve prepared a few comebacks:

Widow is such an ugly term.

I used the widow card the other day to get a $20 refund from Amazon.  It sure is coming in handy.  Kinda like the AARP discount card.

You’re so strong; you’re going to be okay.

I’m glad that reassures you.

I heard she died by suicide.  What happened????

Um, she killed herself.  Most people consider it self explanatory.  Did you want details?

At least Patty didn’t divorce you.  That would have been harder.

I’ve been through a divorce and am confident this is worse.  Plus this way, I get life insurance.

I didn’t know she was depressed.  I should have called her.

She wasn’t.  If her wife and sister couldn’t help, I highly doubt your annual phone call would have made the difference.

I don’t know how you do it.  I’d fall apart.

I must be a great actress because this is what falling apart looks like.

So, is everything a sign from your dead wife?

Conveniently, yes!  It’s all in how you look at it.

You’re a psychologist - why didn’t you stop it?

I did everything I could but our current mental health system failed us.  You should lobby your senator to fully fund services and training.

Wasn’t the last season of Homeland awesome?

Yes!  I cried through every episode because it was the last show we binge watched together.

My ex-uncle-in-law just died so we’re going through the same thing.

Oh wow, so you understand how every item in your house reminds you of him?

Don’t you worry that talking about her makes the kids sad?

I’m more worried that they’d bury their sadness until it sprouts into addiction, behavior issues or a life of gothic artistry.

When I lost Taco the Chihuahua, I was devastated!  He was a family member.

No opposable thumbs didn’t stop him from doing chores, eh?  You must miss Taco’s financial contribution to the household.

Wow, you have a lot of pictures of her up in the house.

I apologize for this offensive reminder of your grief.

I couldn’t live in a house where someone killed themself.

Think of it like spit.  I don’t like just anyone’s spit but I liked my wife’s spit.

Are you back to work yet?

I don’t think my clients need to hear, “Oh you think you’ve got it bad….”

I’m so busy at work!  I wish I could be on leave like you.

Well, the grass is always greener!  Or in my case, dead and yellow.

If you’re going to live in that house, you’ve got to change things up.

I’m going to turn her clothing into quilts and throw blankets.  Want one?

How are you really doing?

Is this a trick question?

Are the kids okay?

Is this a rhetorical question?  

Wow, you post a lot about suicide and grief.

Yeah, it’s kind of my passion.  I’m thinking of starting a cult.

It’s so hard to be isolated during COVID with my family.  I want to kill my husband!

Yeah, I miss that feeling.

Are you still the kids’ stepmother?

Funny how I went from evil stepmother to witchy widow.  To answer your question, yes.

What are you going to do with her stuff?  Donate it to charity?

I’d prefer her prized Ramones t-shirt didn’t end up in the bargain bin at GoodWill.

You’ve gained weight.  Are you eating properly?

Actually, I lost 120 lbs. and feel better than ever!

It's time to stop wearing your wedding rings.

Thanks.  I was thinking of melting them down for scrap and bedazzling my jeans.

You’re young.  You’ve got another 40 years ahead of you.

I’m thinking about rebranding myself as a spinster.  Make it cool like Toyota did to swagger up minivans.

Would Patty want you to do that?

If she didn’t, she better speak up now.  She left all the big decisions to me.

You should move away and start a new life.

Ah, yes.  That’s what will finally stop the frequent flashbacks to our life together!  I’m doing it to myself, you know.

You’ve changed.  You’re kinda morbid and blunt these days.

Thanks for noticing!  Your validation is everything to me.

I just found out Patty died a few months ago!  I’m in shock!

Don’t worry, it wears off quicker for acquaintances.

Did you know that committing suicide used to be illegal?

Luckily, she avoided jail time.  By the way, when you say ‘committed suicide,’ it sounds like you believe she broke the law.  Might want to evaluate that.

Now that you know what I’m not saying, feel free to judge me.  People act like I’m a grief whisperer.  Just because I’m special doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly got a key to universal knowledge.  If you blunder or don’t know what to say, don’t assume I do either.  Or that I’m judging you.  Sometimes I only know what's bad when I hear it.  I wish I could warn you.  I’m working on embodying the mysterious widow persona.  I shredded an old black dress and I’m letting my roots grow out.  Fingers crossed, I think the bereavement kit comes with bonus nuggets of wisdom for posting to social media.

Since my wife died in February, I’ve transformed into an obsessive recluse.  I’ve always been a weirdo but now I’m a grieving weirdo.  It takes eccentricity to a whole other level.  Before, my obsessions were psychology and home improvement projects.  Now, work is impossible and I break down trying to choose flowers at the local Home Depot.  Removing every last dandelion from the yard is my glorious new passion.

Since I trust you, I’m going to tell you about some of the other strange occupiers of my mind.  Like squatters, these topics have moved into my brain to fill up the unused rooms.  I vacillate between kicking them out and kinda liking the company.  Until new obsessions come along, I’ll play reluctant host to this ragtag collection of ideas.  

1. Life After Life

It’s natural to wonder what happens to someone after they die.  I’ve been doing some light reading (usually at around 3AM) on what psychic mediums think on the subject.  Apparently, we continue life on the other side, often recreating the likeness of our earthly homes and possessions out of familiarity.  In my wife’s afterlife, I hope she made some improvements.  She’s likely finally found the perfect couch (comfy yet stylish!) and is no longer taunted by the daily dog hair tumbleweeds.

I have a few questions.  Does my wife get to meet celebrities? She’d be totally psyched to meet Dolores O’Riordan, the lead singer of The Cranberries, who died in January of 2018.  Did she get to watch the last season of Homeland that aired after she died?  Can she still water a lawn in contemplative meditation?  Most likely, she’s cavorting with her first girlfriend, Suzy.  I’m told Suzy was a little crazy in her earth life so I hope she’s not a bad influence.

If I end up living a few more decades, I’ll probably grow and change substantially.  Will Patty recognize me when I finally make the trip? Will she and I still be soulmates or will I have to share her?  Like, did Suzy claim my wife as her soulmate?  I don’t wish anyone loneliness in the after life but dang, I’ve got dibs.

2. Cookie Butter Therapy

If you’ve read my self care tips, you know I’ve found cookie butter solace.  Listening to my body’s unique nutrient requirements, I heed the call for that smooth comfort.  As a psychologist, it used to bug me when I’d see memes like, “I don’t need therapy, I’ve got wine!”  Occasionally speaking aloud, I’d reply, “Hello future client!”

Now, I’m not so sure that retail, alcohol or food therapy is all that bad.  I mean, it IS bad in that it doesn’t solve the problem and could turn into something worse.  But if keeping your head above water saves your life, perhaps I should reconsider these stopgap measures.  Personally, I’m planning a future half marathon to combat the future cookie butter problem.  And by planning, I mean it’s on my list to look up neighborhood jogging routes.

3. Signs from Beyond the Veil

After my Dad died in 2002, I looked for evidence that his energy was still around.  Losing a spouse takes it to a completely new desperation.  Again, according to psychic mediums, we can ask our departed loved ones for specific signs and they will try to send them to us.  Oh the pressure!  Being an overachiever, of course I wanted to come up with the perfect sign to request from my wife.  One that hits just the right balance of inside joke and everlasting love.

To get the ball rolling, I picked the first thing that came to mind.  I asked my wife to send me a maroon Nissan Rogue SUV.  Weird, I know - but also the perfect symbol of our family.  I’m not that great at these requests just yet so I hope she knows I’m asking to see one, not get one as a gift.  Years ago, she borrowed my maroon Nissan for a road trip with two little boys who would become my step kids.  Having not yet met, questions about the car’s owner became a convenient way to talk about Mama’s new sweetheart.  

I started seeing this car EVERYWHERE.  There’s this one little problem, though.  Have you ever heard of confirmation bias?  Psychology Today says, “Confirmation bias occurs from the direct influence of desire on beliefs. “  Basically, I started seeing the car because I wanted the sign from her.  The overly enthusiastic part of my brain said, “Yeah, but wouldn’t she also FLOOD the world with whatever sign you requested????”  Next time, I’ll ask for money.

4. Meditation

After all the grief festivities were done (i.e. initial horror and subsequent wake and funeral), one of my besties recommended the book, Proof of Heaven by Dr. Eben Alexander.  The author is a smarty-pants neurosurgeon who had a near death experience.  He woke up out of a coma, wrote everything down, and set about trying to disprove the platitudes he once touted to patients.  Anyway, a fascinating book and GREAT for the active griever in your life.

Veering from his conventional colleagues, Dr. Alexander’s career diverged towards the path less taken.  He’s now involved in projects with the founders of Sacred Acoustics, a brainwave entrainment audio recordings company.  That’s a fancy way of saying guided meditations with binaural beats that create experiences.  There’s one that facilitates “communication with spirits across the veil.” Since I’m obsessed with getting back with my wife without leaving my kids and dogs, I became a convert. 

Before Patty died (AKA BPD), I was known to dabble in mindfulness and may have claimed I meditated for longer and more often than I actually remembered to do.  Don’t judge me, I was a busy mom!  With a renewed desperation and time on my hands, I gave these wacky meditations a go.  OMG, y’all they are amazing.  I dare say I’ve done a little cavorting with my wife (at least in my mind).  Seriously, between ADHD and grief brain, I can still knock out a 38 minute ‘Love Body’ meditation, no sweat.  In the least, it’s a crutch over the rough spots.

5. Crafty Crystal Suncatchers

I haven’t gone off the deep end (yet) and meditated while balancing my chakras (okay, maybe once) with family heirlooms.  If you read more than one book about the afterlife, you’ll pick up on themes.  Psychics love auras, butterflies, and RAINBOWS.  Since I’ve got time, I figured it wasn’t hard to put together my own suncatcher.  You can certainly purchase these dandies but I prefer my own extremely amateur creations - especially since I need one for every window.  Not sure what to do with these colorful messages from beyond but they are a comfort of sorts.

You may have gathered that I wasn’t previously into the paranormal.  For instance, I knew that smudging was a thing but now, thanks to Etsy, I have my own kit.  Same with healing crystals.  As a child from a family of geologists, semi-precious gems, variegated rocks and hefty quartz crystals already held a special awe.  I must note that my grandfather never mentioned crystal suncatchers as a method for communicating with the dead.  It’s all me who’s hoping for yet another channel where, through refracted sunlight, my wife asserts her presence.

6. Documentaries About Death

It’s a widow habit to categorize life events as ‘before’ and ‘after,’  We use these terms with a wistful air of melancholy apology.  We didn’t create these terms but they’re used as handy shortcuts before launching into yet another story about our dead spouses.  This next tidbit is about me, though.

I love documentaries but before, I’d skip over the downers.  Who wants to watch a flick about eroding habitats when your lawn looks so good?  Times change and now after, I’ve completely confused Amazon’s algorithms with my new entertainment searches.  I find comfort in tragedy.

I recently watched The Bridge, a documentary on the world’s most dangerous suicide locale - the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.  Since it was built, upwards of 1,700 souls have leapt to their nearly assured demise.  The doc profiles the families of people actually caught on film at the moment of decision.  Should sound awful, right?  To me, it’s soothing.  Not the suicides, but hearing the family process the death.  They’re in the soup with me.  Their stories make me feel normal.

7. Unique Grave Decorations

I’m only sharing this with you because I know you’ll understand.  I threw this one in the mix because I had a brief, but intense love affair with unusual grave decorations.   Did you know you can get “grave blankets” to keep your loved one warm?  Obviously more popular in northern climes, they're actually giant wreaths of evergreen branches to cover the gravesite.  Sadly, they aren’t allowed in my wife's cemetery or I’d be all over it.  She was always cold…..before.

Switching gears, turning towards the following topics is a sort of exposure therapy.  They each flutter at the windows of my mind and blot out the light (which I need for rainbows).  I might as well add them to the growing list of crap I have to deal with eventually.  Just so you know, I’m not weird enough to literally keep a list (yet).

1. Birthdays, Holidays, and Other Horrible Occasions

I know they’re coming.  I limped through some already.  May holds the double whammy of Mother’s Day and my birthday.  Despite the embarrassing lack of evergreen splendor, we’ll visit her gravesite where I’ve already smuggled in other decorative contraband.  Since I buy presents for myself all the time, for my birthday, I generally request a tasteful yet classic homemade card.  I’ll get through the anticipatory dread and trudge through the sewage of my lowered expectations.  It’s only another 24 hours to get through.

2. Getting Married Again

I can’t even think about what’s next.  Or rather who.  When I do think about it, I feel sorry for the sad sap who’s attracted to the runner up spot. Here’s the thing, I think about getting married again ALL THE TIME.  My fantasy only went as far as imagining waking up in a fully formed relationship.  Because I loved being married to my wife, it seemed reasonable to want our life reinstated.  As the days turn into months, finding someone new continues to stubbornly insert itself from outside my head.  I blame Patty.  She always insisted if she died first, she’d want me to remarry.  Less charitably, I countered that if I died first, she could never remarry because I’m her one true love.  She apparently wants the last word.

To be fair, I am only 45 years old.  When my stepson asked, I told him I was going to marry the dogs.  He just doesn’t want me to change my last name, so on that we’re cool.  Like passing me a note, Patty’s best friend from high school also delicately floated the idea.  Even my brother-in-law said he wouldn’t want me to pass up something special.  They all want me to be happy.  I don’t want to want to get married again.  It feels like forcing myself into a loveless, arranged marriage.  With my luck, I’ll live another forty years.  Maybe I’ll feel differently if my wife sends me a convincing sign.  

3. The Next Death

The completely self absorbed grieving person I’ve become can’t even think about the next shitburger tragedy that’s surely on its way..  You’d think I’d have a guess who it might be but you’re wrong.  I never would have put my wife on the shortlist but here we are.  With new obsessions hoarding space in my grieving mind, it’s too crowded to handle another disaster.  So I just don’t think about it.

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