Episode 1 Grief lesson #1: the measuring stick
You are listening to the Life, Reconstructed Podcast where grief expert, best selling author and widow, Teresa Amaral Beshwate, shines a light on the widowed way forward.
Hello, and welcome to episode 1. Grief lesson #1: the measuring stick. In this episode I share my story, and the first lesson I learned from grief that carries me through every single day.
My husband Ted and I met in 1999 and in September of 2000 began a marriage that is best described as peaceful, respectful, loving, hilarious, and an example of what is possible.
Our wedding anniversaries were special to us, and each year we would celebrate with a trip. Sometimes we stayed close to our central California home, and twice we traveled to Portugal and walked the cobblestone streets of the villages from which my family emigrated.
We were out of state celebrating our twelfth anniversary and having lunch when Ted’s heart stopped beating. I did CPR, the paramedics arrived quickly, and the emergency department worked tirelessly. But in the quiet room of that hospital I heard the words “He died,” and my life was instantly divided into two parts: before and after.
I bet you can relate.
I found myself in two funeral homes in two states in a matter of two days. On our wedding anniversary I picked a casket. It felt so cruel at the time.
I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was willing my heart to beat. The weight on my chest prevented my lungs from drawing a deep breath. My body was on a slow march toward joining him. And I didn’t know how to fight the dying.
In the days and weeks after losing Ted, I had two questions: Could I live? And even if I could, did I want to? I couldn’t seem to find answers to those questions until, months later, I remembered the look on my mother-in-law’s face at her son’s funeral. I couldn’t do that to my parents. So I decided to dig my heels in and fight dying. I had found my first why.
When I was cognitively able to go back to work, I jumped in with both feet. I remember the first day I was able to stay focused at work for eight straight hours. Those hours were like a vacation from my shattered life. That day I found my drug of choice—busy—and I was instantly hooked.
My full-time job at the time required significant travel, and I was adamant about continuing to live on our ten acres, so there was plenty to do to escape the horrific pain. I was on the run. I was exhausted physically and mentally, and the exhaustion reached the depths of my soul, yet I couldn’t face the pain. Instead, I chose to be busy. I thought if I stayed busy long enough, maybe time would heal.
Years later it became obvious that my strategy wasn’t working. Time on its own, I learned, does not heal. I was tired to my core, and tired of being tired. I was tired of grief beating me up every time I let my guard down. My strategy of avoidance was not getting me to where I wanted to go.
With a few exceptions, my journey was a solo one. I quickly realized that most people in my life, despite wonderful intentions, just didn’t get it. Unless you know, you don’t know.
While for many people therapy is a wonderful path to healing, it wasn’t a fit for me. I felt that unless the therapist herself was widowed, no matter how educated and experienced she was, her advice wouldn’t seem relevant to me.
Grief groups also weren’t a fit for me. Grief felt like a private matter.
I stumbled around in the darkness until I started to see a light.
No one ever told me that navigating great loss is nothing more than a series of decisions. I didn’t know that my preconceived notions about right and wrong were holding me hostage. I had no idea that my thoughts were 100% optional, sometimes completely untrue, and often creating unnecessary suffering.
I didn’t know how to feel such intense, soul-shattering pain. I was shocked to learn that when I turned and faced it, the pain did not overwhelm me but instead actually loosened its grip.
I had no idea that it was possible to find my way forward without leaving him behind.
Everything I needed to know when I was stumbling around in the darkness can be summed up in just two words: coaching tools. If only I had discovered life coaching sooner, my journey would have been much clearer, more focused, less confusing and more intentional.
So, I became a certified life coach so I can help you navigate your loss with clarity, focus and intentionality. I want to help you find your superpower.
I hope you’ll listen to the episodes to come, where I’ll share the roadblocks and turning points in my journey and help you apply these lessons to yours. For now, let’s start with the first lesson I learned, thanks to a widower friend who explained it to me. It’s simple:
He said, “you’ll never have another bad day.” He said it during some of my darkest days, so I was confused.
He explained further that I had already lived the worst days of my life, and now nothing else would compare.
I could have never imagined that our twelfth wedding anniversary—the day that I selected my husband’s casket—would become my measuring stick for all other days. The torture of that day became my superpower.
And I want you to find yours. Today will not compare to THAT day. You can do this day.
There is so much to come in future episodes and I hope you’ll soak it in, apply it and watch it transform your life like it did mine.
In the meantime, know that I believe in you. And I’m here for you. Take care.
