Widowed Fathers Reaching Out

I know a few widowed mothers and have great respect for how they handle the role of single parent.

I don't know any widowed fathers so I have always been curious about how they juggle the demands of raising children and handling their work careers. 

 

I imagine that a family member helps them; maybe a mother, a sister or even a brother.  Or maybe the fathers had already hired someone to help them when their wives sadly became too ill or were weakened by treatments.

 

But after reading the insightful New York Times story below, I found that widowed fathers and widowed mothers essentially struggle and try to deal with the same issues: school, bed time, personal responsibilities and housekeeping.

 

 

At the end of the day, it is not possible for one person to physically and mentally juggle it all.  It takes a lot of support to parent your children and take care of your broken heart all at the same time.  And it's okay to admit that.

 

You are not SuperParent.  You need help.

 

Asking for help doesn't mean you are weak.

 

Asking for help is a sign of good mental health.  It means you recognize that your efforts are not changing your situation the way you thought it would and something different needs to be tried.

 

Asking for help is a sign of strength.

 

It doesn't feel that way when it is happening but it's true.

 

I am always in need of help.  Many times I would call my grief counselor and my voice would be shaking and my hands would be shaking and I would try my best to keep it together but it wasn't happening.  Sometimes I couldn't even put together a simple declarative sentence.  All my words would come out in a jumble.

 

It's hard to put yourself out there when you are most vulnerable and in need of kindness and support.  And as a single parent, you feel you have to be strong for your children and show them the way to go.  I'm always asking other parents what's going on with their children and then telling them something that is going on with my child to see if a particular thing is common to them. 

 

"Well how did you get them to eat that?"

 

"What time does your child go to bed?"

 

"Have they asked about blankety-blank yet?"

 

Please read this great New York Times story below focusing on widowed fathers and the wonderful way these guys handled their unexpected situations:

A Lifeline for Widowed Fathers

By JANE E. BRODY

April 22, 2013/The New York Times

Three springs ago, Joe Ciriano was living in a fog. He had just lost his wife of 21 years to breast cancer. He was now the sole parent of a son and three daughters, one with Down syndrome. The children, ages 6 through 19, all had different needs and levels of understanding.

Mr. Ciriano, 51, an accounts manager in Burlington, N.C., was riddled with doubts about his ability to carry on as a single parent and was struggling to keep his head above water. While deeply mourning his wife, he was unsure of how good a parent he could be.

“What is normal?” he wondered. What should he say to the kids about their mother? How should he treat them? Could he handle his family and do his job?

With no one to share day-to-day family responsibilities and decisions, and to help fill both his and his children’s emotional and physical needs, life felt “overwhelming,” Mr. Ciriano said in an interview.

Then something wonderful happened. He and Karl Owen, a 49-year-old software engineer from Chapel Hill whose wife had died, of lung cancer, three weeks after Mr. Ciriano’s, were asked to form a support group for fathers widowed by cancer who had children at home.

At the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Dr. Donald Lee Rosenstein, a psychiatrist, and Justin Michael Yopp, a psychologist, weren’t sure how openly these men would talk about their feelings and struggles. But the researchers saw a pressing need to help them and their children through this trying life experience.

Too often, they’d found, widowed fathers contend with social and emotional isolation — a profound aloneness — and suffer in silence.

“I’m not a support-group kind of guy who wants to talk about touchy-feely kinds of things,” Mr. Ciriano said. But finding himself “lost at sea,” he was willing to give it a try.

The result has exceeded all expectations. The eight widowed fathers who formed the core group, led by a professional facilitator, quickly learned that their feelings, doubts and concerns were shared by all and offered one another insights and suggestions on how to cope.

“All the men were exhausted and suffering a crisis in confidence, fearful of screwing things up,” Dr. Rosenstein said. “They faced countless daily issues — school problems, struggles with discipline, bed times, expectations and a tendency to let things slide a little, which really doesn’t work well for kids.”

Mr. Owen said in an interview: “A lot of things that seemed abnormal in our lives were common to the other guys in the group. Someone would bring up a situation, and the rest of us would nod, ‘Yeah, me too.’ These issues were very difficult to discuss with friends who hadn’t been through a similar experience,” said the father of two children, who were 9 and 12 when their mother died.

 

“We were all in a place in our lives we hadn’t prepared for,” he said, “and collectively we could share experiences and help each other navigate.”

Participants in the group developed a remarkable bond, a level of friendship and sharing that is rare among men, who even now are expected to be strong and resilient, and many of whom still avoid talking about deep feelings and doubts.

Three years later, four of the men continue to meet monthly and have benefited so much from the experience that they are reaching out to help other fathers newly widowed by cancer.

Meanwhile, Dr. Rosenstein and Dr. Yopp, who said they could find no similar support groups for widowed fathers, are trying to get others started at cancer centers around the country. They would like to conduct a formal study to determine “what is most helpful and what isn’t to these men,” Dr. Yopp said in an interview.

Ideally, he said, every major cancer center would have a support group for widowed fathers, whose experiences and needs are different from those of widowed women and older men. (More information about how the group works can be found at singlefathersduetocancer.org.)

Cancer is responsible for more widowed fathers than any other cause of death, Dr. Rosenstein and Dr. Yopp noted in an article in the journal Psycho-Oncology. An estimated 100,000 children are living with widowed fathers in the United States, and the trauma of losing a mother at a young age can seriously disrupt a family’s structure and the children’s development, sometimes with lifelong consequences, they wrote.

“There is a pressing need to understand the experiences of these widowed fathers and to develop supportive interventions for them and their children,” they said.

I can attest to the value of such support. I was 16 and my brother was 12 when our mother died of cancer in 1958, leaving my father emotionally, physically and financially drained by her yearlong illness.

To stay afloat, he worked two jobs and had little time to enforce routines and discipline at home. I soon departed for college, and my brother was left to cope on his own with the devastating loss of our mother at so vulnerable an age.

“Men traditionally do not play the role of the more nurturing parent; therefore, as widowed parents, fathers may be less likely to employ child-centric or nurturing parenting styles and more likely to feel unprepared than widowed mothers,” Dr. Yopp and Dr. Rosenstein wrote.

They said various studies had found a clear “link between the mental health of the surviving parent and the adjustment of the parentally bereaved child.”

A major issue for widowed fathers, Dr. Rosenstein said, is providing parental consistency with love and understanding. Good parenting requires structure, clear expectations, well-defined limits and reasonable consequences.

“What I’ve seen happen a lot is the former family order melts away and no new order is put in place,” the psychiatrist said. “This can be tough for kids, who feel cared for when there are limits and consistent discipline.”

The trauma of a young mother’s protracted death from cancer can be exacerbated by the patient’s understandable wish to live as long as possible for her family, Dr. Rosenstein added. These women often choose aggressive therapy until the bitter end, missing the comforts of hospice care and the opportunity to express their love, wisdom and wishes for the family.

In an online survey conducted by the two researchers, nearly half of 144 widowed fathers said their wives had had no chance to say goodbye to their children.

The Art of Resilience

Being Proactive Can Strengthen Your Resilience

The subject of resilience totally fascinates me.

Resilience is being able to bounce back after being tossed around by life.  Trying to figure out why one person bounces back from a life trauma and another person breaks from the pain tells us something about the human condition don't you think?

 

It's a roll of the dice. It's the $64 million question.

The ability to stay on track and keep your focus, the ability to develop an inner strength in the face of adversity is inspiring to me and in turn I draw strength from other people's stories of getting through a serious illness, a financial setback or the loss of a loved one.

 

When I read or hear about other people's experiences with life's hardships, I am always curious about what they were thinking as they went through it and what kept them going.  Sometimes it strengthens my resolve and I think to myself, "If they can do it, then so can I."

After my husband died, I searched everywhere for stories about widows raising children and read all the stories about it that I could find so that I might figure out what I was going to do.  The best advice I read was this:  don't ignore your problems or try to wish them away.  Take each day as it comes and if you can't bear to look past 24 hours or even an hour, then don't.

 

Try to break the moments down into manageable blocks of time.  Sometimes that's only 10 minutes but that's okay.  Often I would go from 10 minutes to the next 10 minutes and then the next 10 minutes until I found I had gotten through an hour and then I continued to slowly work my way through the time of pain.

I think it's good to know that the bouncing back part doesn't always happen immediately.  It takes awhile to figure out what's going on, put yourself somewhat back together and start following your usual daily routines.  During this time, reaching out to family and friends for support is key.

There is no way to predict which adult or child is going to find the determination and inner resolve to dig down within himself or herself and overcome the bad/stressful/unfair situation that life has thrown their way.  You might think that it's the person who has been given much in terms of material wealth and privilege but it's not always that way.

Sometimes the person who shows incredible amounts of inner strength is the person who has nothing.  No material goods and no parent.  Or the person has a parent but it's one that's an alcoholic or drug addict.  Or no job and no insurance.  Or no spouse and no idea what the future will bring.

 

If you have nothing or the one thing in life that you loved was taken away then you can as if you have nothing to lose and that in itself is a kind of resolve. 

 

Resilience isn't all about being tough and toughing it out, but more about opening yourself up to life and allowing yourself to be vulnerable and reaching out for support. 

 

You can't change what has happened but with courage, support, and a hopeful attitude, you and I can look toward the future and wahtever it may bring us.

Finding Support

 

Re-reading my first Cry, Laugh Heal post from 2010 for Monday's edition brought all the crazy grieving feelings back to me: exhaustion, numbness, raw emotions, the scary future and sometimes even laughter!

But it also reminded how great my support group was during that time and how it gave me hope and helped me feel that life really would get better even though my husband died.  As I met with my small group twice a month, some sessions were upsetting and some were comforting but eventually I felt less alone and stronger about myself and my murky future.

There's a very good reason why they are called support groups: they are set-up to give that extra boost of support needed to help you handle a life crisis and the people in the group have been in your situation.

 

The philosophy of most support groups is this: we have been there, we know how you feel, and you can lean on us until you feel stronger.  Whether it's grief, alcoholism, drug abuse or any other condition where people reach out for help, those who have experienced it are part of the group and lend a helping hand by giving back to those trying to figure out how to deal with their crisis and the more experienced people pass along how life can be lived in a different way.

 

For me, that was the secret weapon of my support group.  The leaders of my group had lost spouses, raised children, and rebuilt their lives.  I had no idea how they had done it but I was there hanging on to every word, reading every bit of material and drawing all of the strength that I could from them because I told myself that if they could do it then so could I.

 

We were bound by our common loss and our discussions, which usually lasted for about two hours, were supportive and healing.  People in my group were newly widowed and had the opportunity to talk about all the issues surrounding their spouse's death, things that they didn't feel comfortable discussing with even their family or friends.  The getting it out, the expression of emotion truly was a huge help.

 

I remember at my first meeting I was nervous because I didn't know what to expect.  We went around the table and introduced ourselves and I thought I would be fine until it came to telling why we were there.  I started to cry and couldn't stop.  But it was okay.  Everyone was quiet and waited for me.  I finally got through my story and when I was finished there was such understanding.  It was so reassuring to me!!!!

 

I could only belong to my support group for two years and while this support group worked me, joining a support group may not be for everyone.  Many people prefer the privacy of one-on-one talks and that is wonderful too.  I tried one-on-one chats for a few months until I was ready to join my support group.  A wonderful and compassionate woman from the support group would regularly call me on the phone and we would talk for about an hour.  I can't tell you how helpful it was to have that support!  Having someone listen and then having her tell me what she did after her husband died was such a gift.  To this day, I treasure those conversations.

 

You are not alone and you don't need to bear your loss all by yourself.  I found my support group at the local hospital but you could also ask your family doctor or a trusted friend.

 

Please don't be afraid to take the first step.  There are lots of helping hands waiting for you!

Still I Rise By Maya Angelou

Oh, Maya Angelou, you are one talented and wise woman!

Her poem, Still I Rise, tells us about what it means to face life's difficulties with courage and patience.  Staying committed to walk your journey and refusing to give up is not easy, but as long as we can take that first step and reach out for help, it can be done.

Take Maya Angelou's hand, read her inspiring thoughts and feel her strength in the following verses:

Still I Rise

By Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Discovering Kris Carr

A relative who is also a close friend was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and she introduced me to the awesome books written by New York Times best-selling author Kris Carr.  I don't know how I missed her but I am now totally taken with her philosophy of assessing your personal priorities in order to successfully battle cancer and become a "wellness warrior."

Carr's blueprint for self-examination helps you to take stock of how much you actually exercise (not enough), what you actually eat (room for improvement) and what you should eat (more veggies) to how much stress (too much) and fun (not enough) exists in your life.  Kris Carr is all about empowerment plus she mixes it up with a fantastic sense of humor using terms such as "cancer posse" to describe those who have helped and supported her since her diagnosis, "CanSer babes" referring to herself and other women united in the battle against cancer and "Froot Loop mentality" noting the lack of nutrition in the standard American diet that is chock full of processed and sugar ridden foods.

I have never been diagnosed with cancer and I pray to God that I never am, but I am also fully aware of the risks of cancer in my family.  Relatives on both my mother and father's side of the family have fought various cancers and sadly, some have lost the fight.

But you don't have to be a cancer patient to appreciate and take advantage of Carr's information.  I immediately found her positive attitude and approach to life incredibly uplifting and was also struck by how adaptable her philosophy could be for people who are in various stages of grieving.  Reading the "Crazy Sexy Cancer" book series could recharge your inner you and perhaps give you a friendly kick in the butt to move yourself forward.  I know it did  for me.

Just to fill you in a bit about Carr, she was diagnosed with a rare and incurable stage 4 cancer in December 2003.  Doctors said chemotherapy, radiation and surgery could not help her.  "This whiskey tango foxtrot moment (that's military lingo for WTF?!) sparked a deep desire in me to stop holding back and start living like I mean it!," Carr said.  She then went on a deep healing pilgrimage and discovered a nutrient dense plant-based diet that put her in remission.

Carr has an amazing talent for crystalizing thoughts about life.  A sentence which immediately jumped off the page for me was: "Catastrophic moments in life force you to focus in on the immediate."  Wow!!  Is that ever true!!!  Everything shifts when you are handling a trauma and things that you once thought were important get deleted from your priority list.  You only have so much energy and you find that it has to be directed towards the catastrophic event in your life, not the things that drain you.

Being diagnosed with cancer is certainly a catastrophic and traumatic moment as is the death of a loved one.  When either of these things sadly occurs, you are feeling so many things at once it's hard to get a grip on what is happening to you.  That is why Carr's take-charge attitude is so helpful.  Ask for help, find help, keep looking for help and eventually your situation has got to improve if not physically, then mentally.

Another sentence in Carr's books that grabbed my attention was: "When you are living like you mean it, you are a force of nature."  It's very difficult in the beginning of grief to live your life like it means anything because you are in pain and have no enthusiasm.  At that point, all the cards have been thrown up in the air and you have no idea which way to go or what to do.  It's enough to throw on some clothes, try to eat and maybe go to the grocery store or call a friend....and sometimes the day turns into a lot of time spent sitting and staring at family pictures and wondering what happened.  That's okay too because it's all part of the healing process. 

Create your own pace and slowly, and I do mean slowly, you will begin to feel that it's possible to put one foot in front of the other and, as Kris Carr says, you will meet yourself and begin a new journey.

Searching For Memories

The whole world is watching as the Japanese rebuild their lives with quiet diligence.

News reports show incredible pictures of houses ripped from the earth, cars piled on top of each other and even the concrete tsunami walls built for protection have been broken up and easily tossed aside.  And then there is the nuclear issue...The enormity of the human and physical devastation in Japan as a result of the March 11 earthquake and tsunami is difficult to comprehend and just seems endless. 

But one man in particular stands out for me.  I recently read an interview with this Japanese man, who asked to be called by his family name, Kikuchi, and his sentiments immediately struck a chord.  Through his shock, he was saying that we, as a larger human family, really do have so much more in common than we realize.

"My daughter is missing.  She is gone.  I was up in the hills above town and couldn't get to her in time," he said in a Reuters interview.  "I am looking for something that can remind me of her.  There must be something here," Kikuchi said as he continued his search through the broken-up wreckage for any little piece of something that might belong to her or remind him of her.

The primal need to connect to someone loved and lost is an emotion that touches everyone.  No one can take away Kikichu's memories of his young daughter, but his desperate search is for something more.  He wants physical proof of her, something that he can hold, perhaps something she once held, to reassure him that she will not be forgotten.

Sometimes you keep a possession that once belonged to a loved one because of what it evokes.  It's not really about what the object is.  It's about how the loved one used the object and how it reminds you of how much you cared about that person and how much you miss them.

When my Nana died, I wanted the small metal oblong telephone directory she kept by her bed.  To this day it reminds me of her because all the names, addresses and telephone numbers were written in her distinctive handwriting and no one else had anything like it.

When it was closed, the cover had a vertical list of the alphabet on it.  Beside the alphabet was a piece of metal that was shaped like an arrow and it was on a track so you could slide it up and down the alphabet.  Once you picked the letter you wanted, then you pressed a bar at the bottom of the cover and, presto, the directory would open.  It's a precious memory for me.  In my mind, I still see my sweet grandmother in her lavender bedroom picking it up and using it.

I also talked to a young mother I know about this need to connect through a loved one's momentos because her mother died when she was a teenager.  She immediately knew the emotion I was trying to explore and proceeded to tell me a story about how she and her father were cleaning out a closet a few months after her mother's death and they found a raincoat that belonged her mother.

They both thought they had gathered all of her mother's clothes so the raincoat was a total surprise.  She said her father just stared at it and didn't say anything but she immediately grabbed it and wanted to smell it to see if her mother's scent was still on the material.  The best thing, she said, was when she put her hand into the pockets of the raincoat and she found some balled up kleenex.  "I put them in my hands and closed my fingers around them as though I was holding my mom's hands because my mom had held these kleenex at one time and I just felt closer to her."

Let's think of Kikuchi in his time of sorrow and hope that he finds something that belonged to his dear daughter; something he can hold close to his heart.