Navigating Grief: Lessons from Road Work

Phoenix, like most cities, seems to be under constant road construction. The other day, I was heading to a meeting and running late when the road narrowed to one lane. Unsure of how far the construction would be, I debated turning off to a side street but continued on the route. Fortunately, when I got to the traffic light, the roadway returned to two lanes. On the other side of the light was a large sign flashing “CAUTION,” though no other roadwork was happening. This made me think about the similarities of grief and construction.

Early Grief

At the beginning of the death of a loved one, the whole road is gutted. There is no way around it. So, you sit in the messiness of grief, not knowing which way to turn. You know you can’t reverse out of this situation. Anger erupts and gives you the sensation of power over the nightmare you are stuck in, but it’s not sustainable. Or you are filled with uncontrollable sorrow and anxiety as you keep hoping that this is a mistake, the road will clear, and you can go back to the life you had. But you look around, and you see craters surrounding you. The life you knew will never look the same.

As time passes, you learn that you can’t change the construction around you. Everyone figures out how to traverse this new road differently. For me, it was getting up in the morning and carrying the weight of grief with me. The tears would flow, with brief intermissions. I often stared off into the distance while eating dinner, trying to wrap my head around this new reality until my son would pull me back. My two girls were on their own, but my son still had two months until graduating from high school, so I had to keep moving. Yes, the road was rocky and hard to drive on, but I still had a job to do: be a grieving widow to grieving children

Transitions

Just like there are road crews directing traffic with signs to slow down, stop, or go, I had to find direction on this new path I was traveling. First, I looked for people who had dealt with the death of a spouse. I wasn’t looking for clichés but people who would show me I would survive this pain. Fortunately, I found someone who came to Mike’s reception to whom I could speak in the early days. I reread a book about a woman who became a widow at 25 while she was five months pregnant. I had read it the year before, but it resonated at a deeper level now. I also reached out to hospice for grief support, even though Mike hadn’t used their services. I ended up joining a closed group for people whose spouses/partners had died. I attended two of these six-week sessions, three months apart. These were the most valuable, as I still use the information shared in those meetings today.

The first couple of years were the hardest to adjust to. Grief brain is real, and the amount of information I could take in was limited to small time windows. I wasn’t sleeping well either, further interfering with my cognitive abilities. I also had to move from the rental property I was living in because the landlords were selling it. Because of the manner of Mike’s death, I didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with most people, especially after the reaction from a person I told early on. I constantly navigated unknown territory and needed the stop and yield signs for guidance. It took time to find safe people to share my experience with.

Like road construction, grief work is never done. The road develops cracks and potholes, or they start another project on the road they worked on for two years. This has been my experience with grief as well. I’d start feeling like I’ve got this, only to be bowled over by a letter addressed to my husband from the funeral company that took care of his remains, asking if he would like to use them for his burial arrangements. That was not a pretty conversation for the company. All the other life happenings can still set me off course: holidays, birthdays, insensitive people’s comments, having to make every decision, or just everyday parts of living. It’s just so tiring. My dad was my biggest supporter until he died in 2022. He and Mom flew across the country on the same day of Mike’s death. Although I had always taken care of our finances, it was nice to be able to run things by my dad.

I’ve been a widow for twelve years. Some days are easier than others, and I continue to get hit by tsunamis of grief. I’ve built a resource toolkit that includes an online support group, books (audiobooks are often easier to get through), podcasts, safe grief friends, and finding creative things that bring me joy. I’m not the person that I was before Mike’s death, and it didn’t make me stronger. Instead, I’ve learned to adjust to the reality of my life. My grief journey will last as long as I’m alive and experience different life passages. I can’t control what life throws at me, but I now look for the glimmers, those moments that bring me joy.

For more help, visit my resource page.

I attend two free online grief events monthly that provide continued support and help me feel less alone in my grief. Wendy Kessler’s https://griefguideconsulting.com/ offers a free Zoom session on the first Wednesday of the month. The link for the meeting is at the top of the page. The second one is with Charlene Lam, https://www.thegriefgallery.com/gathering, which happens on the last Wednesday of the month.