HOW CAN I FIND PEACE AFTER GRIEF?

DEAR BEL

I HOPE you can help me unravel my thoughts and give me some peace of mind.

I met my husband Steve in 1963 and married in 1966 — we had almost 40 years together and I thought they were happy.

I admit the sexual side was less than satisfactory; two rare times resulted in pregnancy — and then stillbirths: a daughter and then twins (daughter and son). He showed no support or emotion about these events and continued to feel that his needs came first.

He spent virtually everything he earned on himself (hi-fi equipment, cameras, drinking), resulting in evictions for nonpayment of rent. I accepted this and, as his health deteriorated (heart problems, prostate operations, diabetes and eventually almost total incapacity), I cared for him. Three months before our ruby wedding anniversary, he died from heart failure and I mourned his loss intensely.

Five years later, I met Harry, another wonderful man. He was the opposite of Steve: caring, careful with money, adoring and supportive. We had 11 years together but could not marry as, although Harry’s wife did not want contact, they couldn’t get divorced as she was a devout Catholic marriage vows.

In 2020 the law changed, so he could instigate divorce. During the process, in 2021, he had a serious fall and died after a week in hospital. The divorce came through on the day of his funeral.

This hit me intensely, harder than the death of my husband. Every time something happens that I want to share, I always think of Harry and never Steve.

Every day, I recall Steve’s faults. I’ve tried to reconcile my feelings, but it’s not working. Harry’s family have kept in touch but I couldn’t discuss it with them; his sister has not accepted his death and phones me in tears every week.

I feel so alone and confused and want to spend what’s left of my life more at peace. I wonder why I could not have seen the problems earlier and ended the marriage, but I felt my vows too sacred to break. What can I do? EVELYN

TO START the process of ‘unravelling’ I’ll begin by pointing out that you introduce Harry to this narrative as ‘another wonderful man’?

This is important, because it means that the subconscious self who wrote the email instinctively thinks of Steve as the first ‘wonderful man’.

You recognised all his faults back then, accepted them and were too weak (a fair description, not necessarily pejorative) to argue against them. You took care of him as his health failed and then ‘mourned his loss intensely’.

Yet you are now brooding about his faults, and your email subject line reads, ‘Why do I feel like this now?’ That’s a good question.

It’s commonly accepted that one bereavement can trigger thoughts of another grief, or even more than one, even if they happened a long time ago. You lost Harry two years ago, miss the stability he brought to your life, and hear his sister weeping every week. That’s hard.

You feel utterly alone, even though you have friends, and I am wondering whether those long-ago stillbirths may be playing a part here. I doubt you ever mourned your babies properly, because you were married to a selfish man who showed you no support at all.

I think you should consider the way deep grief can awaken grief, and use that awareness as a means towards finding some peace. Then I’d like you to try an exercise in ‘exorcism’: take a box of matches, tip them on a saucer, and then each time you have a miserable, negative thought light a match, contemplate the flame, blow it out, tuck the spent match back in the box. When all the matches are used, bury the box, saying ‘goodbye’ aloud.

Now it’s time for you to accept both those loves, for better, for worse. And I’d open your loving heart to your friends.