Some words from Judy, Helen & Leonie

Why did you set up Cambridge Widows?

[Judy] “When Adrian died, it never  crossed my mind that within a year, I would be meeting regularly with other local widows who were strangers, and  have now become some of my closest friends.  The relief from being amongst women who understood my distress, my madness and my fear from being flung into widowhood was something too good and precious to not share with other widows as they came our way. Two years later, it gives me immense joy and pride to see more widows benefit from meeting others in an informal, kind, and non-judgemental setting.”

[Helen] “I agree. I have drawn such solace from spending time with other widows. I realise, looking back, how hard I was on myself in the early months when I didn’t know what to do with any of the confused mess of feelings inside. I didn’t understand myself and so couldn’t explain it to anyone else. Meeting other widows provided a short hand. I didn’t need to talk in full sentences, they just got it. And this has been the case for the other widows in our group. We have all gained so much from our times together. Like Judy I feel real pride in being able to bring widowed people together and facilitate that connection.”

[Leonie] “Knowing how much it has helped me to meet others who get it, I am glad to be able to reach out to other bereaved people.”

Could you tell us a little more about your husbands and how they died?

[Judy] “My husband Adrian was a strong, healthy man of 66 who was semi-retired when oesophageal cancer was diagnosed a the start of 2021. We were living in an empty nest, and had enjoyed a 32 year marriage working as coaches and raising 3 daughters in central Cambridge. Adrian used his free time to start a charity for street children and cycle long distances with friends around the UK and abroad. He was making plans to  cycle the length of Zimbabwe where he spent time as a child of missionary parents, when persistent trouble swallowing turned out to be a 9cm tumour in his oesophagus. We were initially told he might survive the brutal treatment and surgery and return to full health, but ten months from diagnosis, the cancer consumed him,  and he died on a grey November afternoon, as I held his hand, with our daughters and our dog around his bed in the Arthur Rank hospice.”  

[Helen] “We thought David had survived an initial brush with bowel cancer in 2018 when he was 49. It had been diagnosed early and we were told the prognosis was excellent. He had regained fitness and, by summer 2020, we were busy re-decorating our new house outside Cambridge, digging the big garden and loving our new life with our recently acquired puppy, when David felt some back pain. A few weeks later, our lives were exploded, as we discovered that he had secondary cancers in his spine, liver and lungs. He was given months, possibly a few years, to live. I don’t know how we got through those months, as we negotiated chemotherapy alongside pain management, and moving house to somewhere more suitable. We tried to make the most of the time we had, but all too soon, his lungs worsened, and we ended up in Addenbrookes 2 weeks after my 50th birthday and 9 months after diagnosis. He died a few days later, much sooner than we had expected, but peacefully with me by his side.”

[Leonie]”My husband, Nick had never spent a night in hospital until he was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer just after his 60th birthday. Despite all treatments known to modern medicine to preserve his life, including a first phase clinical trial treatment, Nick died 14 months later in September 2020. We had met as students and had a full and exciting life together, bringing up two daughters and living in many locations before settling in Cambridge several years ago. At the time of his diagnosis Nick was still running his own business and we had expected to spend a long old age together. I know that I experienced anticipatory grief during the time that he lived with his cancer.  I couldn't imagine a life without him, nor wanted to. However, nothing could prepare me for the finality of his death and the challenge of life without him.”

Could you tell us about more about how Cambridge Widows works and the ladies in the group?

[Judy] “The heart of Cambridge Widows is meeting in person,  made easy by living locally to one another. As I look around at our meetings, I see we are such different women, with unique lives and stories that have brought each one of us to this group. Whether it’s the smiles that emerge from our monthly drinks, or the reflective discussions that nobody else except a widow would relate to, being heard and supported is a lifeline amongst all of us.”

[Helen] “I’ve met a lot of widows online, but meeting in person creates a deeper connection. I am always struck by the incredible and immediate connection that happens when someone new joins us. We may be different women but we share such a huge thing in common. Being widowed is different to other forms of bereavement. When the person you live with, share your life with and expected to share your future with dies, it shakes every single part of your world. There is no safe space to retreat back to and you’ve lost the one person you want to talk to about it. So it’s very special to spend time with people who understand this and are living it too.”

[Leonie] “Meeting regularly in person gives us a place where we feel supported and able to share our stories and experiences, as well as where we can laugh or cry. Many of us are now living alone which is hard work, so sharing that is helpful. We can also discuss what’s on in the local area and make arrangements for doing things together, like a few of us will go to the theatre or cinema together.”

What advice would you give to the recently bereaved?

[Judy] “Seek help until you find someone who listens and understands, preferably other widows. Grief is an unpredictable tyrant. It leaves you feeling there is something wrong with you as all your reflexes and defaults stop working. Being outside, even for 5 minutes, deep breathing saved me in some of my darkest moments. Finally, family and friends might not be the people that help you best. I have had people cross the road. Singing helped. Running with the dog. Saying yes to offers of a coffee or a meal, but sometimes I would cancel arrangements because I couldn’t face it. I lived off a lot of soup and found it harder to have alcohol free days. “

[Helen] “I agree that getting outside helps. I walked a lot in the first few years. And I agree you need to find people who understand, though it took me a while. I was numb in those early months. I floundered around, desperately trying to find someone to tell me how to ‘do grief’. I think I shut down and found it hard to talk to anyone. I remember feeling very resentful that people didn’t realise how much pain I was in. After a few months, I found a therapist who encouraged me to open up, although I didn’t really feel understood until I met other widows. They say that grief needs to be witnessed, and healing happens through connection to others. I resisted this hugely, but I now understand this is 100% true. They also say that grief is hard work. It helps to know this too! So, the main thing I would say is be kind to yourself, take one day at a time. Don’t put pressure on yourself - grief is a long process. You will be wholly changed by it, so try to allow this. And seek help. Don’t do it alone. There are people out there who have been where you are now.”

 [Leonie] “Yes - I would say much the same. Try to be kind to yourself and don't expect too much of yourself. Take one day at a time. Everything in your life has changed. There is no need for you to be either ‘brave’ or ‘strong’ you just need to cope In your own way.”

How has the journey of widowhood been 2, 3 years on…

[Judy] “That rawness of grief isn’t there now, but the black hole of Adrian’s death is just as bad when it returns in flashbacks. I still can’t believe I’m in my early 60s and a widow, with another 25 years of possible life in front of me. Being a single parent for the joys and sorrows of my children has been the most painful and challenging part of being alone, even though I have incredible friends and wider family who care, nobody else was as equally  invested in the children as Adrian. I am writing again, living elsewhere as an experiment, but setting up and running Cambridge Widows has given me focus, purpose, relief, and a lot of laughs. I love passing that on to other widows we meet.”

[Helen] “I hate how normal being on my own now feels. The numbness and confusion of the early years has passed, and I now have a much greater compassion for myself and all that grief throws up. I have accepted that grief is a journey and you never get to the end. Yet my life still feels utterly surreal. It’s not the life I thought I would be living in my 50’s. It’s not the life my friends and peers are leading. I still feel resentment for that, and I still feel resistance to the reality of my life. So in some ways, life gets harder as you have to face up to that reality. But there are laughs to be had, and I have learned so much about myself. I feel a greater empathy for others. And I like that I can now talk about grief and death and dying - this is a super power that the bereaved get given. I feel I have a lot to offer in this space, and on my good days I can feel positive about the future.”

[Leonie] “Over three years after Nick’s death, I feel as if I am still adjusting and adapting to my new life, but I no longer feel desperate. My daughters, my dog, my family and friends have all been a great support, as has the invaluable camaraderie and understanding of my new widowed friends. Keeping my diary full and doing new things is helpful to me, but I realise that this is not a strategy that would work for everyone.”