Our guest blogger is Gael Garbarino Cullen, author, journalist and public speaker. 

“Tell me where my husband is!”   
Uncertainty, fear and sheer terror all fused into that strangled shriek into the phone receiver.  And at the very moment those desperate, panicked words rose from my gut into my mouth, I faced another, equally terrifying realization.  My 9-year-old daughter, tucked safely into bed 20 minutes earlier as I bravely tried to pretend it was just another ordinary school night, had somehow known better.  Something was not right.  She had made her way downstairs to the kitchen just in time to witness the near collapse of her mother on hearing the news that Daddy wasn’t coming home from his business trip. 

From “Owning Grief: Widowed Young How I Discovered Gifts in Loss” 

As we work our way through life with its many tangles and turns, we inevitably encounter grief and loss, and not just sporadically, but more often than we might even care to admit. Loss is woven into the very fabric of living.  

I discovered this harsh reality as a young mother of four daughters, ages 3 to 9, when my 40-year-old husband, Steve, died while out of town on a business trip. That sudden, unexpected heart attack turned my world upside down and set me off on an unsolicited journey to make some sense of this loss. I was determined not to simply deal with the grief, but to find a way to learn from it. 

In defining loss, the death of someone we love, like losing my seemingly healthy husband all too young, certainly comes to mind. But there are countless other ways in which we experience loss. Divorce, even if it is something we sought, still represents the end of a relationship that was expected to endure, to last “until death do us part.”  

When an elderly parent is stricken with Alzheimer’s, the role reversal that ensues represents another great loss. The mom or dad we knew, who raised us and counseled us through countless life crises through the years, now no longer knows who we are and yet relies on us to act as caregiver.  

When a dear friend or relative suddenly becomes estranged, perhaps over a perceived slight or maybe for no immediately apparent reason, our heart aches. Their loss can leave us feeling abandoned, slighted, wounded. 

A cancer diagnosis, the loss of a job, a mental health breakdown; the losses we face in life are many. The grief is all too real. 

The pervasiveness of loss in our lives dictates a new relationship for us to untangle, a relationship with grief. This dance with grief is unavoidable, but it doesn’t have to be all tears and hurt. There is that, of course. But over time and with some work, grief can also be a gift. It’s how we deal with our loss. A wise anonymous author once wrote, “Grief is not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith. It is the price of love.”  

Spiderman actor Andrew Garfield put it another way. In describing the death of his mother to CNN host Anderson Cooper on his “All There Is” podcast, Garfield said, “The grief and the loss are the only route to the vitality of being alive.” Cooper’s response: “Grief is the only time you feel so close to your lost loved one.” Cooper knows a bit about loss. He is the only person remaining in his immediate family, having lost both his parents and his only brother. 

When some aspect of our life changes or is lost, most of us don’t have the option of crawling into a permanent hole and wallowing in grief. Nor should we want to. The object of our loss, perhaps of our love, requires that, at some point in the grieving, we consider the life that is still laid out in front of us. Many stories have been told about people on their death beds who encourage their partners to move on, to find new meaning, perhaps a new love, once they have passed. That kind of wisdom prescribes that we consider what our future might look like now that our past has been altered so significantly.  

As I worked to rebuild my life as the mother of four young children who no longer had their daddy’s wit and wisdom to guide them into adulthood, I found myself giving a lot of thought to this idea. Not only did I have to help shape my kids’ lives and futures on my own, but I owed it to them to give me that same consideration. My sisters and dear friends worked hard to convince me that I would ultimately be a better mother if I paid more attention to myself. I wrote about this in my memoir: 

This concept of daring to think that there was more out there for me than basic survival started to develop. I needed to give myself permission to think about my future and what it might look like. To reimagine my life and grow in the aftermath of death. 

I later learned this new approach of mine actually had a name, post-traumatic growth. I was purposefully seeking ways to grow stronger, physically and emotionally and to allow myself space for personal introspection. I was determined to find ways to better craft this life I’d been handed, not just to simply make it through each day.” 

Clinical psychologist Richard Tedeschi, an expert in post-traumatic growth, describes PTG as the positive psychological change experienced as a result of struggling with challenging, stressful life circumstances. And at first, it may seem counterintuitive. How can a tremendous loss be positive in any possible way? How can you find gifts in that loss?  

Yet, without question, I can testify that PTG has undeniably played a large part in my grief journey. One of these gifts was improved personal relationships. While there were close friends who disappeared from my world after my husband’s death, there were countless others who showed up in ways I never expected. Some were old acquaintances who transformed into “always-got-your-back” friends. Others were new people with amazing empathy who quickly became folks I could rely on in any circumstance: stressful, sad or happy.  

I abandoned the concept that I had to be super-woman, single-handedly handling a challenging career, being a single parent, running a busy household, mastering financial investments and everything else that life tossed my way. I learned that accepting help from others did not make me weak, but ultimately strong. I now sincerely value my relationships, recognizing the tremendous value–the gift–that they give us as we move forward in life. 

I’ve allowed myself to grow in other ways, too. I think I’ve become a better role model to my four daughters. I’ve fostered in them a concept that they learned all-too young, that life is short and ultimately unpredictable. We all better appreciate how foolish it is to allow a grudge or a petty argument to disrupt a relationship with someone we love. It’s not always easy to bury the hatchet, but hopefully we fashion a much greater good by doing so. 

We as a family are also determined to find some positivity in Steve’s death. Together, we founded a run/walk in his honor that has raised over $650,000 for heart research at the Medical College of Wisconsin. And there is an added benefit. This annual event keeps an appreciation of Steve in our hearts and minds, even in those of his young grandchildren who never got to meet him, personally. 

Developing resiliency and the strength required to soldier on are gifts that we may not even recognize in the initial days, weeks and months after a life-altering loss. The immediacy of grief makes it difficult to be hopeful, to see how anything positive can come out of such despair. But the seeds of post-traumatic growth are within all of us, and they will grow to become a resource for us to draw upon as we inevitably encounter the next challenge that life presents.  

If you want to learn more or have questions for me about your finances, become a subscription member of Financial & Longevity Planning in the Madrina Molly™ Community. If you’d like the company of other Women of a Certain Age(ncy), join our free Shared Wisdom discussions or take individual courses. 

Gael is available for speaking engagements and grief group moderating @ owninggrief@gmail.com. Learn more at www.owninggrief.com.

Reading: 
Gael Garbarino Cullen, Owning Grief: Widowed Young How I Discovered Gifts in Loss, iUniverse, 2022  

Copyright © Madrina Molly, LLC 2024. All rights reserved.

The information contained herein and shared by Madrina Molly™ constitutes financial education and not investment or financial advice.

Sherry Finkel Murphy, CFP®, RICP®, ChFC®, is the Founder and CEO of Madrina Molly, LLC. 

Related Posts