In the years I led support groups for grieving spouses, I always included time for a check in. I invited participants to share what had recently happened. Did they have a question, was there a good/bad experience during the week, or maybe a hopeful/hurtful encounter with a friend? Whatever they wanted to discuss, we talked about it. Their needs always trumped my plans.
During one check-in, a group member asked, “Why do people tell me to sell the house?” It was a few months after a beloved spouse had died and several well-intentioned friends were pushing this person to downsize. The house was too big. It’s too much responsibility. It’s now only you rattling around in a bunch of empty rooms. You should do this. You must do that.
In the group, heads started nodding. A few muttered in sympathy. Everyone appeared alert.
Next, a member shared a horror story about selling the house too soon. And then a third explained, because of a disability, how frustrating it would be to leave a home’s familiar, comfortable surroundings for a new place. Around the circle, heads kept nodding. They understood. Another member voiced a “rule of thumb” about changes (like selling a house): don’t do anything major for at least a year after the death.
Though all advice is suspect, the one-year “rule” has merit.
Except, well, there are exceptions.
I shared about my mother-in-law, who sold her house and moved into a retirement community barely three months after her husband’s death. Ba-boom! Change! But years before, my in-laws had decided exactly where they’d move when they could no longer take care of their home. They’d openly discussed options. They’d put money down. They’d informed their children of their plans. In most ways, my mother-in-law’s decision was easy-peasy. After all, her rapid move was based on years of mutual planning. Good for her.
However!
A realistic (or vague) plan can be dirt mixed with water when a different reality rains on life and everything turns muddy. As my support group supported each other about when/if to sell a house, my thoughts—my Guilty Me thoughts—wandered to my mother. In the year following Dad’s death, my siblings and I encouraged Mom to consider selling the house. We highlighted exactly what my support group had grumbled about: it’s time to downsize and you shouldn’t have to worry about upkeep. Eventually Mom sold. Her actions occurred after the “one year rule.” Her actions occurred partly when her doctor said she shouldn’t live by herself because of nagging health issues.
After touring several retirement “villages,” Mom chose one. But she was never happy with it. She missed her old neighbors and didn’t connect with anyone at her downsized senior apartment. She complained about the food. She fretted over parking her car outside.
Mom died a year after her move.
Guilty Me wondered and still wonders, should she have lived her last months in her way-too-big home?
Realistic Me knows we had no idea how long Mom would live and—darn it all—her house had become more of a burden! But, as Guilty Me and Realistic Me point fingers and argue with each other, I am comforted by one thing. None of us kids gave Mom one-way advice. We tried to support her decisions and needs. Even on my down days, I believe we were careful not to pressure her, not to badger her.
Unfortunately, I suspect the member of that grief group only felt pressure when confronted by the “friends” that wielded advice like a fist.
Here’s the truth: every decision after a loved one has died is difficult. Every. Single. One. Those desiring to comfort the grieving should offer a soft heart, not hard thoughts.
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My book, A Companion for the Hospice Journey, is available at Amazon.