EXPRESSIVE ARTS FOR GRIEVING PEOPLE
Showing posts with label UNWED WIDOW. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UNWED WIDOW. Show all posts

Camp Widow West Ensues!

I am honored to be leading 2 workshops at Camp Widow West this year. I will be the panel moderator for a discussion on children of widows on Friday late afternoon. And, I am excited to present an intensive on both Friday and Saturday called "Rituals for the Journey."

Camp Widow West™ 2012 will be held at the San Diego Marriott Hotel and Marina in San Diego, California from August 10-12, 2012.

See below!



FRIDAY AND SATURDAY

Here I am, wearing an Amish hat! (Just kidding!)


FRIDAY ONLY

To see more, go to www.campwidow.org

NOTE: I just learned that anyone who signs up because they heard about camp from me can use the group rate registration which saves them $50!

Love,
Kim

The Widow's Gates

They may have discussed marriage or been engaged. They may have been life partners because they could not formalize a legal arrangement. They may have made a heart contract. They may have been together months or decades; lived together or separately.

And then their beloved dies.

These grieving people often express a different kind of grief. Without a state endorsed ceremony and license, the world of widows and widowers appears to them to be a gated community, walled by two pieces of paper – a wedding license and a death certificate. And it is their perception that this gated community keeps them out.

Despite the derivations, one common thread remains – that the word “widow” or “widower” could be challenged if they were to define themselves thus. But there is no existing word for them.

Many have reported that they feel their grief is devalued. Others have lost shared resources, wealth, and relationships. Some have even lost access to children.

The term “widow” and “widower” is code. It stands for the level of personal disruption and hardship a death creates, as well as the measure of the bond and heartache. Since all terms are slippery, the term “widow” or “widower” never will tease out, for example, the surviving partner that secretly wished the partner dead or the spouse that had an affair and was about to leave the marriage only to be slowed by illness or death.

I undertook study of the word “widow” in it's historical context in search of better understanding. As with all research projects, you begin with an intuitive hunch that may or may not bear out. In this case, there are multiple points of interest to bring to the table.

To know what the word widow meant historically, you have to start with what marriage meant historically.

Marriage in Western civilization has a circuitous history, chiefly influenced by Roman, Hebrew, and Germanic cultures.

Marriage is, unfortunately, not easily summarized. From an anthropological perspective, it appears that all cultures view marriage as an absolute necessity. All cultures pressure healthy persons to marry and bear children. Many cultures have gone so far as to have laws that penalized the unmarried and childless.

While generalities are hard to distill, throughout history marriage consisted of a personal agreement that did not involve government or religion until very recently. Marriage was generally conducted as business arrangement between families.

These soft boundaries in relation to marriage also resulted in soft boundaries in relation to widowhood.

The Judeo-Christian influence on our modern society is undeniable. It is interesting to reconstruct our early ancestors understanding of widowhood.

Greek term translated "widow" (chera) means "bereft" and conveys a sense of suffering loss or being left alone. The term chera is not limited to a woman whose husband has died. It is understood as a woman that was left desolate, forsaken, abandoned and empty.

The Septuagint is the Koine Greek version of the Hebrew Bible, and was written in stages between the 3rd and 2nd Centuries BCE in Alexandria.

The Septuagint's treatment of 2 Samuel 20 includes a story about David taking ten women as his concubines. He put them in ward, fed them, but never had sexual relations or saw them. So they were shut up unto the day of their death, living each day in “widowhood” - the root of “widow” being the greek word chera. This passage demonstrates a completely different understanding of the state of “widowhood” – one where a husband was actually alive. The scriptures often use the term as to be left "desolate" or "alone". At this time in history, being alone was an especially difficult position because community was everything. There was no honorable employment for women, neither was there government assistance.

Since the outlook for women alone was bleak, the early Christian church began to propose that it was a virtue to assist them. The emerging Christian ethos can be seen in James 1:27, where the treatment of widows was a test through which believers demonstrated the genuineness of their faith.

Chera - “widowhood” - was not limited to a husband's death, nor was it limited by religious or legal constructs around the partnership. A widow could be a woman who lost her partner through divorce, desertion, imprisonment, or especially death. If she marries or remarries, she is no longer a “widow” because she is no longer bereft.

Caring for such a woman was seen as a privilege and a manifestation of God's compassion.

Fast forward to Medieval Europe. The legalities of marriage had actually changed very little. Again, the most common kind of marriage was understood simply by the couple's living together for a time period.

It was in this context - in early part of the Middle Ages - that the root of our word “widow” starts to appear. The Oxford English Dictionary’s earliest citation is before 825 in the Vespasian Psalter: “Sien bearn his asteapte & wif his widwe.” (Orphaned is his son & his wife a widow.) Note the interesting use of the word orphan when the mother is still alive... again, these terms seem to have far looser perimeters than we assign to them. It also reflects a male-centric worldview.

The verb form appears in the Middle English period. From the 14th century Northumbrian poem Cursor Mundi: “Ik am nu widuit of mi spus.” (I am now widowed of my spouse.)

The Indo-European root -"widh" - means to separate, to be empty. The root in Latin is the source of the word: divide. These words imply a state of being rather than a legal condition.

The only sources historians have to determine the civilian histories of widows and widowers are surviving household accounts, personal wills and letters. Historical archives of letters and correspondence indicate that widows were sought after for marriage in Europe in the middle ages. Likely this reflects a motivation to increase power and wealth among families.

Chaucer's Wife of Bath was purported to have “husbands five”. King Henry VII's mother had four husbands. Some wills specified a requirement for their widows to “remain a widow” and not remarry. The Earl of Pembroke stated in his will "wyfe .. . remember your promise to me take the ordyre of widowhood as ye may be the better mayster of your owne, to performe my wille and to help my children, as I love and trust you." They had seven children.

If remarried, these women were no longer considered widows. This might further indicate that the understanding of this word implies that they are no longer left desolate, forsaken, abandoned and empty.

Fast forward to Colonial America. Since there were few courts or churches available... everyone, including aristocrats, were again back to getting married by living together and declaring themselves husband and wife. These were referred to as common-law marriages.

Today, surveys estimate that the marriage rate in the U.S. is half what it was at it's peak after World War II. Some sociologists posit that we are returning to a "pre-modern pattern" where upper-class people marry to protect their holdings while many others don't marry at all.

With a declining marriage rate as well as delayed or lengthened engagements, we are presented with a lack of words and language for a large population who have lost a significant life partner – people who have endured great personal disruption and hardship, who are immersed in, as I term it: a harsh grief wilderness.

Either the language can become more flexible or new words must be developed to give voice to many people who have loved deeply, committed fully and endured great loss.

Love, Kim

Explaining Death To A Child

Natalie Merchant's new song HERE



Spring and Fall: to a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving? 

Leaves, like the things of man, you 

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? 

Ah! as the heart grows older 

It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; 

And yet you will weep and know why. 

Now no matter, child, the name: 

Sorrow's springs are the same. 

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed 

What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed: 

It is the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

- Gerard Manley Hopkins


“Goldengrove,” - a child's play-world - is “unleaving,” or losing its leaves as winter approaches. Age will change her innocent response to loss, and that later whole “worlds” of forest will lie in leafless disarray (“leafmeal,” like “piecemeal”). Margaret will weep later, but for a more conscious reason - Margaret is already mourning over her own mortality.





Grief Caveats - Don't Be Outside Our Boxes, Please

"mellehcimb" is a blogger that I have been reading recently... her blog is full of her beautiful poems. Her blog cycles over the sacred grounds of her mourning. Her fiance', Nelson James, succumbed to sudden cardiac arrest in November 2009. She is mourning his loss, trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out where to go from here.

She writes a list that I think gives insight into the specific challenges that a "never married" in a faith community has in grieving... a high view of the institution of marriage can equal a low view of grief:

1) Don't tell me we might have/would have broken up. Our mutual love is one of the things I've still got.

2) Don't tell me I'll find someone new. It's not a breakup. We loved each other deeply. When he passed, we were planning on soon being engaged. See above. Our mutual love--and the memory of that-- is one of the few things I've still got.

3) Don't tell me I'll eventually be ready to find someone new, find new love, etc. I really don't care. I found the real thing, I found the man I wanted to get married to, and he died. Whether I get married now, ever, or not, I don't care--indefinitely.

4) Don't tell me I need to move on. It hasn't even been a month yet since his death. From all accounts, the first year is very hard, especially for widows, which I might as well be (albeit not legally).

5) Don't be afraid of mentioning him. I want you to mention him and tell me your memories. They are all precious to me.

6) Don't tell me I need to take, or increase, my psychopharmaceuticals. I can manage that myself.

7) I am coping as best as I can. Please spare me your advice on how I need to cope better. I can walk, I can drive, I can see without double vision. I'm doing much better. Right now I am focusing on getting through one day at a time.

8) Don't tell me it was God's will as if that will make me feel better. I wrote my thesis on the subject. I've probably pondered the issue more deeply than you have. God's will governs all things. Telling me so isn't really going to be helpful.

9) Don't tell me you understand because you lost your mother/father/sister/brother/friend/etc. It's not the same. Or at least, if you do, don't use that as your excuse to give me advice about it. If you use your experience to empathetically listen, though--that's good.

10) The Biblical saying that we are not to grieve as those without hope (1 Thess 4:13) does NOT mean that we are not supposed to grieve. Got that? If you want to get into an exegetical argument with me on that passage, bring it.
11) I believe he is in heaven. I believe he is praying for me. I pray for him. I talk to him. That mitigates the agony. But telling me, "At least he's in heaven now" is not going to make it go away. It's grief. It hurts.

12) Don't tell me I need to a) move on, b) move on faster, c) get over it, c) get over it faster, or ask me, at any point in the indefinite future, if I'm still grieving. I'm on grief's timetable, not yours--not even on mine. “Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to gird yourself and walk wherever you wished; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will gird you, and bring you where you do not wish to go.” (John 21:18) I am being brought where I did not wish to go. Any assertions as to the slowness of grief's timetable, or questions thereunto, are manifestly unhelpful.

13) Don't assume that because I laugh, or smile at something, that it means I'm not grieving. It just relieves the pressure for a second. It's always there.

14) Don't tell me that, because I'm suffering, I need to see a doctor, or a psychiatrist, or a psychologist, or any other such professional, or ask me when I'm going to do so. Please assume I've got that covered.

15) Don't extrapolate your experience with grief, or your friend's, or your family's, onto my own. You may have handled your grief by a) throwing yourself into work, b) retreating into a little cave and shutting yourself off from everyone, c) needing antidepressants or sedatives, or needing the doses raised, d) or buying a farm and raising llamas. Everybody grieves differently. Don't assume that because I'm not grieving your way, I'm not grieving right.

16) Don't assume that because I'm grieving, I want to be left alone. Apparently that's not how I roll. Please call me. Please come over. It's hard to make calls, and it's hard to reach out to people, but when people reach out to me, I really appreciate it. The love and support of my friends and family is helping me get through/survive this.



LINK


Love,

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