Palliative Care for Widows 101

There’s a song I found myself singing tonight as I ran through the streets of D.C. under the haze of a newly fallen snow.

You gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind music
Even if nobody else sings along

You’re gonna be knowing
The loneliest kind of lonely
It may be rough goin’
Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do

I actually have my college roommate to thank for turning me on to the sounds of The Mama and the Papas. When she popped in the greatest hits CD, I immediately fell in love with the voice of Mama Cass. Deep, warm, and folksy—her voice just draws you in and (I don’t know how she does this) for a short while you forget your problems. Songs like “Words of Love,” “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” and the song I was singing tonight, “Make Your Own Kind of Music,” contain deceptively simple, yet thoughtful lyrics.

And so, as I stared at our nation’s official Christmas tree, I sang this tune.

But, let me back up a bit and first tell you how I got here.

Since late November, I have been trapped in a dim, desolate mental place. So many texts, e-mails, and voicemails have gone unanswered because I don’t have the language necessary to explain what I am going through.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, then I’ll make it clear. Widows are the biggest liars in the world. Especially widows like me in our second year of the loss. You’ll ask us how we are doing, but we know you really don’t want an honest answer. I don’t mean to quote Jack Nicholson, but trust me when I tell you, you can’t handle the truth. You won’t want to handle it. The bleakest, least optimistic thoughts may be racing through our minds on any given day. So, when you ask us how we are doing, it’s just easier to keep the answer short and somewhat vague. You’ll get responses like, “Ehh, I’m okay” or “I have my ups and downs” or, my personal favorite, “I’m doing my best.” I love that response in particular because “doing my best” for a widow probably means that she succeeded in only taking one sleeping pill, picked herself up from a pool of tears off her bathroom floor, and remembered to feed the dog and put pants on in the morning.

Anyway, the day after Thanksgiving I was caught in a traffic jam that forced me to be stuck in my car for nine hours. With no one to talk to for hours, my mind immediately moved to Cindy. I don’t know why, but whenever bad luck comes my way, it’s so incredibly easy for me to use it as confirmation that misfortune is simply my lot in life.

I know, I know. It’s a little melodramatic. Okay, it’s completely melodramatic. But, I don’t tell you these things as justification for histrionics. I’m just trying to explain what goes through the mind of a widow. Our minds take rapid leaps in incredibly odd and disquieting directions.

For example, earlier this month I found myself watching “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” a movie that I have seen dozens of times without incident. However, during the scene when Bridget attends a friend’s dinner party filled with “smug marrieds” and she is the only single person there, I started to cry. Who the hell cries during Bridget Jones?

My mood proceeded to worsen in December as the holidays kicked in. I’d do my nightly, solitary jog in D.C. and have to weave around what seemed like hundreds of couples dressed up on their way to holiday parties.

I took two trips on a plane this month and, each time the plane touched down at DCA, I’d watch everyone around me race to turn back on their cell phones. But, I’d just sit and stare at the powered-off phone in my hand.

I’ve lost my way. In the first year of widowhood, I constantly tried to stay one step ahead of the suffering. But, it finally caught up to me and I can’t dodge it anymore. I’m scared. How do I alleviate the pain? Reduce the severity of the symptoms? Conceal its effects?

Without a formal plan of attack, I did what I’ve always done when I am at a loss, which is to go out for a run. When I started my jog tonight, it was in the low 30s and the snow had not started yet. By mile three, when my hands were shivering, I was ready to call it a night, but that’s when I felt the air dampen on my face. I looked up and saw the white flecks coming down like confetti in slow motion. I turned off my iPod and removed the headphones from my ears.

I decided to take a detour to the White House to see the National Christmas tree and the various state trees. As I jogged down 15th Street, the words of Mama Cass (herself a former resident of the Washington, DC environs) came out of my mouth.

You gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind music
Even if nobody else sings along

I’ve wanted to go down to see the trees all month, but I was afraid to go alone. You see, the trees are our equivalent of ice-skating under the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City. You share the experience with the person or people you love.

The loneliest kind of lonely

So, I kept singing that song and made my way down to the trees. While the big tree was impressive, I was fascinated with the state trees. This section, known as the “Pathway of Peace," contains 56 smaller, decorated trees representing all 50 states, five territories, and the District of Columbia. I got a kick out of the Arizona state tree because the ornaments (made by the Boys and Girls Club of Phoenix) had cotton balls glued to them to represent snow. The ornaments on the Indiana tree (prepared by an elementary school class) puzzled me because they were just leaves, which meant that by now they were dead leaves. Not to be biased, but I loved the tree decorated by a Girl Scout troop from the District of Columbia. Their ornaments were big, colorful, and plastered with glitter.

Midway through my stroll, I stopped in front of the Yule log to thaw out my face and hands. If you ever visit D.C. during holiday time, you must go see these trees and, most importantly, the Yule log. Their version of a Yule log is basically a huge fire pit. But, it feels amazing on a freezing night. The warmth felt so comforting that I did not want to leave. After fifteen minutes, I don’t know why, I felt compelled to make a wish in front of the Yule log. I actually made two wishes and then walked away.

On my way out, I stopped in front of the Massachusetts state tree, whose decorations were provided by the Hospice and Palliative Care Program of Southeastern MA. The ornaments consisted of simple brush and bristle tied together with a bow. Although not as bright and cheerful as the ones on the D.C. tree, there was something dignified about them. They may not have flash and glitter, but they did a solid job capturing the rugged spirit of winter.

As I jogged back home tonight, I knew that I still didn’t have all the answers. The path is still not clear to me. But, I do know that I felt the most peaceful and content, even if it was for a short moment, surrounded by the trees with the snow falling around me and the warmth of the fire on my face.

It may be rough goin’
Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do