I enjoy streaming murder mysteries on Netflix, Apple TV, and similar platforms. I’ve noticed some commonalities across several of the shows I’ve watched: the investigator (main character) is coping with the death of a spouse or romantic partner; a close family member (sibling or child) has personal issues with the main character that may result in conflict or simply an abundance of concern; the investigator is supervised by someone who either disagrees with the investigator’s approach to solving the crime or has some other reason for wanting to interfere with the investigation. These details add dimension to the character and create interest beyond the simple solving of a murder. But the main character’s grief, while important to the character within the drama, is not really the focus of the show, even though we do get glimpses of their grief on occasion. This is to say that, however engaging they may be, these dramas are not about grief or coping with the death of a spouse or romantic partner.
I’ve also been enjoying Severance for the past two seasons, in which Mark Scout is the main character and is coping with grief over the death of his wife. The show only indirectly deals with his grief, but his wife’s death is an important factor in the plot. He chooses to undergo “severance” in an attempt to hide from his grief. In the last episode of season two he reveals that his strategy for coping early on was to try to convince himself that she never existed. As someone who lost my spouse ten years ago to brain cancer, I can’t imagine that anyone would adopt this as a strategy for moving forward. It simply didn’t ring true for me.
Mark lost his wife suddenly to a car accident after having been married only four years. This is different from an elderly person losing a spouse after decades due to a terminal illness, and is different from my situation, where my wife died at age 57 to brain cancer after we’d been married for fifteen years. I’ve heard other widows and widowers say things like, “If I’d only told him . . .” or “I regret that the last thing I said to her was . . .” or “If I could have them back for one moment I would tell them . . .”. These must be haunting feeling to live with, and are probably much more likely to affect people who lose their loved ones suddenly. When you care for someone with an extended terminal illness, especially if the illness does not impair cognition, it is different. Denial, disbelief, and grief set in long before death, but you have a chance to express continued love and put aside petty conflicts and other differences from the moment one accepts the ultimate eventual outcome.
I’m thinking of these things today because March 31st will mark ten years since Leslie died. I’m surrounded by reminders of her throughout my house, and in the many activities I continue to do that we used to enjoy doing together. I can’t imagine ever wanting to try to forget that she ever existed. But, perhaps in coping with a sudden death after a brief marriage it might be different – I can’t say. For me, remembering Leslie is a constant source of both joy and sadness. There are many times when I still feel her presence. I don’t mean this in the sense that her actual spirit is still beside me, but rather my memory of her is still vivid and I can imagine her being near.
Leslie was diagnosed in January of 2014 and survived for fifteen months. After undergoing surgery she had many months of relatively good health, and was able to run, bicycle, hike, travel, enjoy meals, and engage in regular social activities. We were told that glioblastoma was always fatal, and that average survival after diagnosis was less than eighteen months. We had heard of rare cases of people living up to five years after diagnosis. As we entered into year 2015 with her still doing well we thought she might be among those five-year survivors. But things changed around the middle of February. She went into hospice care a month later.
The anniversary of her death sometimes sneaks up on me. In years past, and again this year, I found myself out of sorts beginning early in March. This year I blamed it on the cold, dark season until one day I rode my bike past the facility where she had received hospice care and ultimately died. I wondered if my darker mood had been a subconscious memory of those horrible days ten years ago. I can’t be sure, but the thought that it might be related at least gave me a reason for that depression, and actually made me feel better. To create a fictional character who thinks, even for a moment, that it might be possible to erase a deceased loved one from memory makes no sense to me. Even if her memory isn’t in your consciousness all the time, it has found a comfortable place in the subconscious and surfaces in unexpected ways, whether it is summoned or not.
People who find themselves newly unattached and seeking a relationship later in life face a very different situation than young people due to decades of memories, life experiences, and expectations for new love. Starting to date again later in life is also probably different for widows and widowers than for people who are recently divorced. Someone who begins dating a person who has lost a spouse or romantic partner to death can’t hope to replace the deceased. They must accept that however strong and deep the new relationship, they will always be sharing their new partner with the enduring love for the deceased. Divorced singles in a new relationship might still be dealing with the presence of a former partner in their life, and the variety of emotions associated with them. These emotions might include anger, resentment, feelings of betrayal, loss, sorrow, etc. I’m oversimplifying here, but widows and widowers in many cases don’t want to forget their deceased loved ones, while divorced singles in many cases might want to forget their previous lovers. The woman who is a very important part of my life now is divorced, but I believe, after some adjustment, has become a stronger, wiser, and happier woman since her divorce. Of course, I didn’t know her as a married woman, but I see her as strong, wise, and happy today. I am grateful that she accepts and appreciates that I continue to carry Leslie in my heart, and still have plenty of room for her there, too.
Shortly after Leslie died I joined a widows and widowers support group. The facilitator was a young woman working on an advanced degree in a psychology-related field. Although inexperienced, she ran the groups well, but I quickly found that the group wasn’t for me. My coping mechanism at the time was to return to normal activities as much as possible. It was spring in Denver and the weather was warming and tempting me to get out and ride my bike. I did so, but not without spending miles pedaling with tears streaming down my cheeks. But I thought I was moving on. Many of the members of the group had lost their spouses five, ten, and even fifteen years ago, and a common theme was that they continued to be sad and lonely, and without purpose or joy. I wanted to believe, and have found personally, that my life as a widower would not be like that. Now I know that life can be meaningful and joyful ten years later, but not without a kind of sadness that engenders a certain wisdom.
The approaching ten-year anniversary of Leslie’s death, coupled with the shows I’ve seen recently, have inspired me to write this. As with much of my writing, and against what I was taught in composition classes, I did not start out with an outline or any specific idea of what I wanted to say. It’s not quite stream of consciousness, but nor is it anything close to disciplined, expository writing. But I want to close by expressing my concern with proposed cuts in funding for cancer research. America is a great country, and has not lost that greatness, in spite of what Donald Trump claims. But we cannot remain strong if we don’t continue to invest in what has made us strong. Among these are education, scientific and medical research, and efforts to promote the financial and personal well-being of all Americans. While glioblastoma continues to be a terminal and incurable disease, tremendous strides have been made in overcoming other forms of cancer. Who knows, but there might be research taking place today that is making good use of federal funds, and is only months away from a breakthrough. We can’t let this misguided, frivolous, and dangerous obsession with eliminating “waste, fraud, and abuse” continue, especially as it is directed and carried out by the most wasteful, fraudulent, and abusive individuals known to our country. Life itself provides great cause for grief, and we don’t need a selfish, ignorant, and deceitful cabal of “leaders” to contribute to our mourning.