Monday Mourning: The Death of a Spouse

It has been a few years since I had a Monday Mourning post, but then I started the 2020 Quarantine Book Club on Facebook, and one of the authors in the group wrote a book about the death of her spouse, so I figured I’d see if she would be willing to answer the standard questions I used to ask everyone. And she said yes!

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Billie Best is the author of “How I Made a Huge Mess of My Life (or Couples Therapy with a Dead Man)” an uplifting memoir that dives deep into the power of women in midlife. With poignant humor and brutal honesty, she takes on her broken marriage, cheating, grief, death, downsizing, starting over, and learning to age well.

Who was the person that died?
My husband, Chet.

How old were you at the time?
I was 54.

How old was Chet?
He was 54.

Was it a sudden death or did you know it was going to happen?
He was diagnosed in June 2008 with Stage 4 lung cancer, and after 5 months of chemo and one month of hospice, he died in January 2009.

Did you and Chet ever talk about death?
We talked about death often from the time of his diagnosis to the time of his death. For several years we had lived on a livestock farm where we raised and killed cows and chickens. We discussed how our animals should be killed, we saw good deaths and bad deaths. We had seen my father-in-law die a miserable death, even though he was in hospice, because he refused to discuss his own death and left it to his wife to decide his care. His wife felt death was intended to be a punishment for all we do wrong in life, so she thought it morally just to withhold pain medication from her husband. The memory of his father humiliated by death, writhing in pain on his death bed, had a huge impact on my husband. He knew he wanted to die with dignity.

During the months before his death Chet researched the many ways of dying and celebrating death. He decided that death was the completion of the cycle of life and must be like birth in reverse. He insisted we put as much planning into his death as we put into our wedding and we did. He forbade me to dial 911. He didn’t want to go to the hospital or be in a body bag. He planned to be naked, wrapped in a white sheet in his cremation casket. He thought if he calmed himself and embraced the process of dying that it would be like falling asleep. He made me promise that after he died only people who loved him would handle his body. He didn’t want to be shipped around like lost luggage and kept in cold storage. He wanted to be kept at home from the time he died until he went to the crematory for his cremation. I promised I would honor his wishes.

What neither of us could have foreseen is that he would die on a Friday afternoon at the beginning of a three-day holiday weekend. In order to honor his wishes, I would need to keep his dead body in our home for five days. Having my husband’s corpse in the house made death feel normal. The spirituality of the initial dying ebbed, and he was just a man, cold as stone in a room with the windows open and the winter breeze blowing through. I learned that death is ordinary. As ordinary as birth. As easy as sleep. Just as he imagined.

Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before Chet died?
My husband and I had experienced the deaths of grandparents, as well as his father. Also, my grandparents and great-grandparents had operated a family funeral home business in the small town where they lived. As a kid I played hide-and-seek with my brothers in the casket showroom. My mother told us stories about styling the hair on corpses her father had embalmed. And my grandmother told us stories about playing tricks on her father, my great-grandfather, by moving the arms and legs of corpses he was embalming. Death was the family business, so it was natural for them to make jokes about it. Interestingly, most of them chose to be cremated.

Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away from you when you were grieving?
People were very supportive of my grief. After Chet died, I invited friends to visit him at our house, we had a party for him, played music and read him poetry. For the people who experienced his dead body in the same place where they had enjoyed dinner with him, sat on the couch with him, watched movies with him, it was a revelation. We were busting taboos, completing the circle of life and embracing the inevitable. It felt radical to have a dead body in the house, and yet once we were all there together celebrating, it felt natural.

Is there anything you wish you'd done differently with this person?
There are many, many things I wish I had done differently with my husband before he died. But that is the story of my marriage, not his death. His death was a beautiful experience.

Was Chet buried or cremated? He was cremated.

Did you learn anything about the grieving process you'd like to share?
Grief is forever. I kept thinking I would get over it, outgrow it, cure myself of it, distract myself from it, forget it, move far enough away from the past to be out of reach of grief. But it’s always there inside me, seen or unseen. At first it was overwhelming, then it sat like a dark cloud over my life, now it drifts in and out of my experience, but it is always there, near or distant, silent or awakened, and I have accepted that it is part of me.

Were any songs played at the memorial service that were important to Chet?
On the day of Chet’s memorial service I had a dinner for 100 people at the farm and afterward we spread his ashes on the land while a bagpipe player stood on the hill above the barnyard and played Amazing Grace. Chet had always loved the mournful moan of bagpipes, and to hear it echoing around us as we took fistfuls of his ashes and sprinkled them about is one of my most treasured memories of the whole experience.

Billie with Chet. Photo by Jason Houston

Billie with Chet. Photo by Jason Houston

Thank you Billie Best for sharing your experience on the Monday Mourning blog. It is not easy to talk about death and grief, so I am grateful for your willingness to share your story. We don’t always know what to say when someone is talking about the death of someone they love. So, if you’re here and you don’t comment, please hit the “like” button so we at least know you read the post.

If you’re still here, I have an added bonus for Memorial Day. My book Death Becomes Us, is FREE on Kindle today 5/25/2020. While you’re there, pick up a copy of Billie’s book. I’ve read it and it’s really good!

The 2020 Quarantine Book Club will be interviewing Billie about her book on 7/9/20 at 5pm CST, so if you’ll like to join us, join the Facebook Club.

If you’d like to take part in a future Monday Mourning post and share your experience with my readers, reach out to me! I am also looking for women of a certain age to interview about perimenopause/menopause for my newest blog, The Pause.

Last, but certainly not least, help me save the USPS. I bought a TON of stamps and if you sign up for my newsletter, I will send you some swag (stickers, bookmarks and now buttons!) from my debut novel Forever 51.

Monday Mournings: The Death of an Uncle

Hello. My real name is Anna, but I blog and write under the pen name Carrie-Anne, which I adopted for myself in May of 1993 after The Hollies' song. I'm 32 years old, though I still pass for someone in her twenties. No one ever guesses my age right. I've been writing since I was four years old and last year took my long-deferred dream of being a published writer off the back burner. I write 20th century historical fiction sagas and sometimes write soft sci-fi. I'm originally from the Pittsburgh area, but I've lived most of my life in Upstate NY. I also lived in the Berkshires for awhile, during which time I went to UMass Amherst for a degree in history and Russian and Eastern European studies. In the near future, I may finally be going to grad school for library science, though I still dream about getting a master's degree and doctorate in 20th century Russian history, my passion. Most of my hobbies and interests stem from my lifelong love of history, like silent film, antique cars, vinyl records, coins, stamps, old books, old cemeteries, and genealogy. Speaking of genealogy, one of my nine-greats-grandfathers came to Colonial America in the 1640s, supposedly to escape Oliver Cromwell, and I'm extremely proud to have such vintage American roots on that branch of my family tree.



DW: Who was the person that died?
CA: My maternal uncle Paul. I always had so much fun with him, and loved going to his house. He had an awesome dollhouse I loved playing with, helped get me started in my lifelong hobby of numismatism (coin-collecting), loved giving me toy dinosaurs and telling me neat facts about dinosaurs (one of his interests), enjoyed playing board games with me (even if he sometimes cheated at Candy Land because he didn't want to be beaten by a kid!), and had a great sense of humor. We had the kind of close relationship where, had he lived long enough and had I chosen to go to college in Pittsburgh, he would've unquestioningly let me stay at his place. And I'm sure he would've been supportive of the decision I made about what religious path I wanted to follow when I was eighteen, even though it was a different faith than his. I firmly believe he was watching over me when I was run over by a car in 2003 and miraculously got away with relatively minimal injuries, a broken leg and some burns. To this day, I still have the posthumous last present he ever gave me, three $2 bills his widow sent me for my birthday at the end of that year with a note saying he would've wanted me to have them.

DW: How old were you at the time?
CA: Eight.

DW: How old was your Uncle?
CA: I think he was 33.

DW: Was it a sudden death or did you know it was going to happen?
CA: He and his wife were driving to work on St. Patrick's Day 1988, and the car skidded on black ice and went through a rotting wooden guard rail. It was completely unexpected for everyone. His wife was a nurse, so she immediately knew he was dead. One week later, the guard rails were replaced with proper modern metal ones.

DW: Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before your Uncle died?
CA: Because I was so young, I hadn't really personally experienced any deaths of friends or relatives. At most, I remember my great-grandpap Ben passed away a little before this, and that did upset me, since I'd really liked him. But since I was only seven years old when he died and we hadn't had an extremely close relationship, I wasn't hit that hard.

DW: Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away when you were grieving?
CA: I didn't even know he'd passed away till my mother came home from the funeral in Pennsylvania with my little brother. Even today, I'm still upset I wasn't told right away and was denied that chance to say goodbye. Even more upsetting was when I learnt, years later, than my paternal grandma actually counseled my mother not to tell me right away. As a result, I felt like I never really got closure on his death and kept everything bottled up inside for years. It didn't help that I was also having some social, emotional, and behavioral problems at this point in my life, the reason for which was finally figured out three years ago. It's only really been in the last nine years, since my own car accident, that I've been able to open up and talk about my uncle, and his death, instead of avoiding the subject or closing down. The first time I was really able to bring myself to cry over his death was when I was in the hospital after the first of my surgeries in August 2003.

DW: Is there anything you wish you'd done differently with this person?
CA: I wish I hadn't refused to hug him one of the last times I saw him, and hadn't been such a stubborn kid or had those childhood issues that contributed to my being not so touchy-feely at that age. And I wish my family had spent more time living in Pittsburgh instead of relocating to Upstate NY, so I could've seen him on more than visits. But in spite of not wanting to hug him, I knew he wasn't upset with me. I've never forgotten how my mother told me, when she went to his house after the death, the last letter I ever wrote him was on the refrigerator, along with a picture. It had meant so much to my southpaw uncle that I'd written him a letter and drawn a picture with my left hand, and I'm sure that from the other world, he's very proud of me for having finally come out of the closet about the true extent of my left-handedness.

DW: Was he buried or cremated?
CA: He was buried in the Pittsburgh area.

DW: Did you learn anything about the grieving process that you'd like to share?
CA: It's not right to hide the news of a death from a child and not give her the chance to say goodbye. There are always age-appropriate ways to convey the news and help the child to start grieving in normal time. It's worse when you keep it a secret and think it's better to find out after the funeral.

DW: Last but not least, were any songs played at the memorial that were important to your Uncle?
CA: I didn't attend the funeral, as I've mentioned, though years later I saw a scrapbook in my uncle's memory in my grandparents' home. I believe "Amazing Grace" was one of the songs listed as being played at his memorial service. He was a person of deep religious faith, though it was certainly never something he was overt about.
This one goes out to Paul
Okay blog readers, what are your thoughts and opinions about discussing death with kids? Should they be allowed to attend funerals? Know of any good books for kids who are grieving? (I get asked this quite a lot)

Monday Mournings: The Death of a Father

Hi there! My name is JT O'Neill and, yes, I do  love the androgynous nature of my name.  I came of age in the heyday of the peace movement and was forever impacted by that and by the second feminist movement.  The newly established Women's Center at San Jose State University in NorCal literally saved my life.  
Post college, I pointed myself towards education and have spent about 35 years in either the classroom or in admin in the front office. My official title is guidance counselor in a 500 student K -8 school north of the Golden Gate. I wear many hats - whatever hat is needed at that moment:  counselor, nurse, office manager, disciplinarian, yard supervisor, club advisor, entertainer, and on and on.  The most important work of my life has been as part of a two person team.  This team raised two children who are now in their 20's.  Both are compassionate, responsible, and creative adults now and their dad and I are very proud of them.

DW:  Who was the person that died?
 JT:  My father, Robert Paul O'Neill, died very unexpectedly of congestive heart failure at the age of 74.

DW:  How old were you at the time?
JT: I was 43 at the time he died.

DW: Did you and your Dad talk about death?
JT: Although we clearly did not talk about his death, I know he thought about death often.  He had lost most of his siblings and many friends by the time he died.  He was lonely for them, I think.

DW:  Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before your Dad died?
JT:  I lost my two remaining grandparents when I was a teenager.  They were not especially warm people and I didn't know them well.  The biggest impact on me was that I saw both of my parents shed a tear or two - very little expression of sadness but enough that I was shocked at the tears.  There were several other adults in my life who died along the way and their deaths shocked me.  The three year old brother of one of my childhood friends died very unexpectedly when I was ten years old. That sadness and empathy for the family stayed with me for years.

DW: Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away when you were grieving?
JT:  When my father died, I was amazed at the outpouring of support from my community.Within my immediate family (siblings, cousins, uncles, aunts), people contacted me about his influence on them and many people stepped up to put their arms around me (literally and figuratively).

DW:  Is there anything you wish you'd done differently with your Dad?
JT:  I've always wished I could have talked to my dad more but he was of that silent generation.  The man was the salt of the earth but he did not talk about his feelings or his memories much.  He served in the South Pacific during WW2 and that had a huge impact on him but he didn't want to talk about it.  I believe now that he was chronically depressed (and who wouldn't be with the hard life he had lived).  He often sat in silence, simply looking out the window, lost in his own mind.

DW: Was he buried or cremated?
JT:  He was cremated and his ashes were buried at his home in the hills of Mendocino County, CA.

DW: Did you learn anything about the grieving process that you'd like to share?
JT: I learned how important the messages from family and friends were.  Now, when I hear of a death, I try to get something in writing to the grieving family.  A few words can be so healing. 

DW: Last but not least, were any songs played at the memorial that were important to your Dad?  
JT: Taps and Amazing Grace - some other hymns but I don't know them.

This goes out to JT's Dad...