Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
I agree with not prescribing antidepressants after a death/loss; it's quite normal to be "depressed." That's what bereavement and mourning is. We as a society are very uncomfortable with death and very impatient with (natural) healing from it, as well as accepting that sometimes the healing will never be complete. And that's okay, too.
As long as the person doesn't commit suicide during that 90 days. Some people need more help than others.
I am not sure I could have gotten through the first few months of my mother's death without meds.
People should be prescribed as needed, not according to a time schedule or "statute of limitations" on what is appropriate grieving.
For a person who already had clinical depression, to throw the death of a loved one on top of that could be a disastrous recipe.
A person who was already "healthy" might handle things better and not need meds, and/or they might have a stronger support system.
There are some people who seem to make their entire life out of their bereavement. It brings to mind a woman I know who, frankly, doesn't get invited to things much anymore because she can manage to turn any occasion or conversation around to her loss. Mention that your child is graduating from high school and she'll jump in with "my husband didn't get to see our daughter graduate from high school" or if your offspring are getting married or expecting, it's "that's nice, but my husband never got to walk our daughter down the aisle/see his grandchildren." Merry Christmas? "It's not merry for me, my husband isn't here to enjoy it with me." You get the picture. And he's been gone for about 20 years now. I'm not saying she shouldn't be mourning her husband.....it's just that not everything in the world has to be about her grief. It's OK to be happy for someone else.
There are some people who seem to make their entire life out of their bereavement. It brings to mind a woman I know who, frankly, doesn't get invited to things much anymore because she can manage to turn any occasion or conversation around to her loss. Mention that your child is graduating from high school and she'll jump in with "my husband didn't get to see our daughter graduate from high school" or if your offspring are getting married or expecting, it's "that's nice, but my husband never got to walk our daughter down the aisle/see his grandchildren." Merry Christmas? "It's not merry for me, my husband isn't here to enjoy it with me." You get the picture. And he's been gone for about 20 years now. I'm not saying she shouldn't be mourning her husband.....it's just that not everything in the world has to be about her grief. It's OK to be happy for someone else.
This is one reason we don't like to be around people when we get stuck in the bereavement process - or whatever you want to call it. I no longer go to parties, charity dinners, etc. I make it to the occasional birthday party but bring my own car so that I can leave after I have done my thing.
I feel badly for your friend - 20 years is a long time to be in pain.
Location: West of the Catalinas East of the Tortolitas
4,922 posts, read 8,597,781 times
Reputation: 8045
When my husband died 6 1//2 years ago, it was sudden and unexpected. He was 59. 8 days short of his 60th birthday. He was in CO, I was at our snowbird condo in Tucson, opening it and getting it ready for him to come down for his birthday. One night we were laughing, talking, so in love, even after 35 years, and 12 hours later, I woke up in the morning to the realization he was gone forever. I sold the house in CO (too big for a widow, too far out in the boonies, too snowy, yada yada, according to my kids) and moved to the snowbird condo. No 5 acres, a condo. I knew no one, and I had to start from scratch. Alone. I was lonely and empty. Even though I've joined some community organizations, made some snowbird acquaintances, (they're gone by May), joined a couple of sewing guilds, took a class, and it wasn't unti today my friend Tami and I were talking and she said after she left the family home and went to FL, she realizes why she was so lonely and teary...she'd lost her anchor. It dawned on me, I did too. I'm floating aimlessly. I'm lonely. I miss home. That makes it hard to move on, when you're lonely and alone and floundering. So you dwell on what you've lost, and it's still fresh. And it still hurts.
I think it's entirely possible to never get over the loss in that you'll never be THAT happy again. Maybe you will, but maybe you won't; depends on the person and what that person meant to you. Most people seem to move on with life and find someone else to become their love object -- some don't even seem too selective about that and any warm body will do -- but others will just remain alone and be "less happy." That's not a willful thing or self-defeating; it's that not just anyone will do. I personally believe you're less happy if you're not loved and loving. Of course you can fill your days with other things and keep busy, but you never "get over" the loss in that it's really irreplaceable, and life is never the same.
That's because you have to start a different life after a death. It can't be the same when a person you loved for years is gone and you shouldn't expect it to be.
You can't do the same things with the same people in the same places as before because you are not the same.
On the other hand, as Marcy points out, if you completely throw off your old surroundings, disorientation can result. In my case, only when I sold the "family mansion" which we'd owned for over fifty years (I'd had my own houses of course, three of them, but this was always where Mom was and thus "home"; plus, I moved in with her for the last ten years), I felt -- as she did -- that I'd lost my anchor. In many ways, my roots, my bearings, and even myself. I didn't realize until I'd moved to one of my rental houses what a comfort "home" was, like loving arms enveloping me.
Also, as you get older, it gets harder to recreate yourself and invent a whole new life, too.
I don't know if I'm suffering from complicated/prolonged grief, but I'm definitely in a rut...
Finally, I think - as Eeko says -- the support group matters. It's hard to live with no love.
(Marcy, you should definitely check out "The Year of Magical Thinking," by Joan Didion.)
When my husband died 6 1//2 years ago, it was sudden and unexpected. He was 59. 8 days short of his 60th birthday. He was in CO, I was at our snowbird condo in Tucson, opening it and getting it ready for him to come down for his birthday. One night we were laughing, talking, so in love, even after 35 years, and 12 hours later, I woke up in the morning to the realization he was gone forever. I sold the house in CO (too big for a widow, too far out in the boonies, too snowy, yada yada, according to my kids) and moved to the snowbird condo. No 5 acres, a condo. I knew no one, and I had to start from scratch. Alone. I was lonely and empty. Even though I've joined some community organizations, made some snowbird acquaintances, (they're gone by May), joined a couple of sewing guilds, took a class, and it wasn't unti today my friend Tami and I were talking and she said after she left the family home and went to FL, she realizes why she was so lonely and teary...she'd lost her anchor. It dawned on me, I did too. I'm floating aimlessly. I'm lonely. I miss home. That makes it hard to move on, when you're lonely and alone and floundering. So you dwell on what you've lost, and it's still fresh. And it still hurts.
Marcy, I am so sorry for your pain (I read that losing a spouse is #1 on the list of life stressors according to the APA, I believe - I thought it would be losing a child, but it was spouse).
You are SO right about the floundering thing. OMG, I have been floundering for over a year now, since losing my mother - like you, I tried to make the best of things, I sold the house, tried to start a new life, etc.
I think Otter makes a good point about if you attempt too much, it really can backfire by disorienting you. Change is hard enough, throw complicated grief into the mix and it can be just staggering.
I can certainly sympathize with being "thrown off" by all the change. I moved from Texas to California a year after my husband's death. I just couldn't live in the house any longer. It was not a family home; we had only lived there for 5 years. It was "the house of sadness" to me, as my husband was already diagnosed and ill when we moved in. Every corner of that house was haunted with memories of his pain, his gradual loss of all he was, and his death. Even the good memories were bitter-sweet. So I decided to return to the community that he and I had lived in for many years. I do have friends and connections here. Even so, it has been not been a bed of roses. Moving is no fun, and the house I moved into has a lot of things that need to be done to it, so I have been working on those. Many times each day, I see something here that reminds me of him, including our friends. I eat in restaurants we used to go to together, see the same sights as I drive down the freeway, etc. He is missed in all the places we enjoyed together. I guess it is better than being missed in the house where he was so ill and died, but "starting over" is never a clean break. And would we want a clean break - not to remember the one we held so dear? No, it really is not starting over. It is more like a second chapter that very much works off of the events of the first chapter. I also feel that I am floundering - that it is very well to be doing all this work on the house, but I KNOW that it will not make the pain go away or make feel at peace with my loss. When I get everything done, and the house is all settled, I will still be left with who I am and what I have been through, and I will still be without him, wondering how to live. I am doing activities that I enjoy, seeing friends, and working a little. But no matter how busy we are, the quiet times of reflection are always there. And even when I am laughing, I am often aware that he is not there laughing with me. I don't know if I will ever feel happy with my life again. But I have no choice but to continue to make my life as meaningful as possible. As things get done around the house, I hope to start spending more time with people, including helping others in some way. That is one of my goals. I haven't figured out just the way I want to do that, but I know I have to be patient, and let life evolve. I am not sure about it, but I think that there may be joy and contentment out there somewhere.
I'd think it would be weird if people didn't talk about loved ones that they miss.
Mourning never ends. It changes in intensity, but it never ends.
Please register to post and access all features of our very popular forum. It is free and quick. Over $68,000 in prizes has already been given out to active posters on our forum. Additional giveaways are planned.
Detailed information about all U.S. cities, counties, and zip codes on our site: City-data.com.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
-- but others will just remain alone and be "less happy." That's not a willful thing or self-defeating; it's that not just anyone will do. I personally believe you're less happy if you're not loved and loving. Of course you can fill your days with other things and keep busy, but you never "get over" the loss in that it's really irreplaceable, and life is never the same.
