Ending on a High Note
by Alice D. Outwater, Ph.D.
August 12, 2010, page 18.....

How are you handling your life?” well-meaning friends inquire. Then they hastily add, “You’re looking well.” John, my husband, died nine months ago.

I think to myself, this is no small matter losing a husband after 57 years of marriage. Be patient with me, I’m doing my very best and I can’t seem to rush it.

I’ve talked to several friends in my situation, hoping for a glimmer of how they’re coping. The answers are as varied as the people.

These past 80 years I’ve never lived alone. I was brought up in a lively family of six children, then was off to college, residing in dorms with roommates. After graduation I proceeded to work in Washington, D.C. and live with three roommates. Then I married John and raised four children. Still, I never lived alone.

Here I am on unfamiliar territory and reinventing myself. I don’t have to be accountable to anyone. I’m experiencing a new freedom – no rushing home to start dinner, going to bed whenever it suits my fancy.

It became evident, though, that keeping on a regular schedule is to my advantage, so the reality is, I’m doing the tried and true.

After John died, my energy sank in a sort of grief aftershock. I could only summon up 4-5 hours of alert functioning.

Good health is vital so I walked every single day, incorporated yoga weekly, then some physical activities in the gym. I required ample quiet time and simply couldn’t seem to summon more stamina.

I suppose that period of seeing John through dementia sapped deeply into my energy bank. Then I sold our house in town and our cottage by the lake at Thompson’s Point. After living over 50 years in each there were endless decisions about what to keep, what items our children wanted, and finally what to recycle.

Yes, even now there are mornings I wake up so despondent I can hardly roll out of bed. John was a man of enormous vitality, and my days happily revolved around him.

I muse, “What if I just stay here all day?” I know this is foolish because my back will get stiff and I’ll feel worse. Besides, it’s the antithesis to my New England upbringing. One faces life head on. I allow myself another half hour to shut my eyes and mope, or even shed tears, then reluctantly get dressed.

Whatever will I do today? I locate my notebook and review the running list I concocted during a day of clarity. I wrote down everything that needed attention, including new interests. Every month I revise the list, adding or subtracting.

“Choose the easiest and most enjoyable,” I remind myself or just get OUT and walk, no matter what the weather. Then return and reconsider the day. It could look different to you. Yes, yes this makes sense. I’m already cheered up.
I need to pick up a few groceries and know that being among people helps raise my endorphins, those strange things in our brains that control our moods.

Books must be returned to the library, and on it goes with choices in various directions.

Inside me something begins to lighten. I’m now standing on solid ground. I give myself a lecture “There’s no reason to complain or feel one speck sorry for yourself. Look outside, the weather is glorious, the countryside green.”
Once up and about, the day can morph into a really productive one. I read my #1 non-negotiable goal: End on an upbeat note by eventide. It’s just plain wasteful to finish any 24-hour stretch unhappily.

I try to incorporate one act of kindness daily. During John’s illness many came our way, arriving at unexpected moments, some small and others large, but each significant. This is a skill I’m determined to augment. Now it’s time to give back. Good karma flows out – for both the giver and receiver – and can culminate in an astonishing elevation of spirit.

At the gas station as I rumble around for my credit card, I notice a FREE COUPON for a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. I ask the attendant his favorite kind, then run down to get it in an insulated bag. I write him a note of thanks for months of courteous service and return to present it to him. He beams and beams.

I think how amused John would have been when I’d shared this with him at dinner. He’d chuckle and respond, “Oh, Ali, how could I have been so lucky to have married you, you’re full of unusual surprises.”

John is always with me, just in a different form now.
And here another day has ended on an unpredictably high note.