The Joyful Widower

Psychologists call our thoughts about what could have happened counterfactual thinking. Counterfactual thinking often involves our real or imagined role in contributing to the death or the suffering of our loved one. It is the million “what ifs” that roll through our mind: If I had done this, he never would have died. If I had not done that, he never would have died. If the doctor had done this, if the train had not been late, if he had not had that last drink… The number of possible counterfactuals is infinite. Their infinite nature gives us endless thoughts to focus on, to consider and reconsider, turning the scene around and around in our mind.

The irony is that this type of thinking, creating the myriad situations that could have happened, is both illogical and unhelpful in adapting to what has actually happened. Our brain may still be doing it for a reason, however, Some would say the reason is to try to figure out how to avoid deaths in the future, but it may be simpler than that. Our brain, by focusing constantly on the limitless number of alternatives to reality, is numbed or distracted from the actual, painful reality that the person is never coming back. Even when the counterfactual thinking involves the painful experience of guilt or shame, …our brain still seems to prefer it over the terrifying, gut-wrenching truth that our loved one is no longer here. Or, mulling over these counterfactuals can become a habit, a knee-jerk way of responding to pangs of grief. Although we are trading painful guilt for equally painful grief, at least guilt means we had some control over the situation. Believing we had control, even though we failed to use it, means the world is not completely unpredictable. It feels better to have bad outcomes in a predictable world in which we failed, than to have bad outcomes for no discernible reason.

Mary-Frances O’Connor, The Grieving Brain, pp. 144-145

Our “default mode” of operating is assuming that we have control over our environment, over our choices and their outcomes. We make our plans, and then put them into motion. Near-term, simple plans we usually achieve (get to work; run our errands; put on a dinner party), sometimes with small adjustments, but most of the time we have a pretty decent batting average. Longer-range plans can be trickier, because we can’t know the future, but we work with probabilities and likelihoods, with experience, and if we are flexible we can often pivot as needed to adjust and get along.

But then, there are those events in our lives that confront us with the truth of how little control we have. We have freedom to choose, but we do not have omniscience or omnipotence. We make our choices based on partial knowledge and limited ability. We plan a life together with our loved ones, but we cannot know when they or we will die. The only certainty we have is that the mortality rate is 100%. It’s a question of “when” and “where” and “how,” but never “if.”

When a loved one dies, especially suddenly and unexpectedly (and I’ve been there twice now), we lose much (if not most) of our sense that we have control. The more we thought we had control of our lives before, the more of a wake-up call we experience. Situations that we normally handled before can be fraught with raw emotions because we’re operating on edge.

One of the strongest triggers for me this past year has been driving, seeing how many people are busy playing with their phones, not paying attention to traffic, and I have no way of getting their attention to tell them how they ought to drive. On many occasions in the first month or two after Tracy’s death my language could get a little salty in the car, which is not my norm. I’m mostly back to my “normal” now. My daughter recently commented on how she likes the fact that I call the other driver “friend” when I’m criticizing their driving, as in “hang up and drive, friend!”

Another feeling-of-no-control emotional trigger for me (and it’s also getting better) is grocery shopping, especially if I don’t have a list. Stores are set up to manipulate us into buying more than what we really need, with store arrangement, product placement, lighting, music, etc. When I’m tired after a day of work and just need to pick up a few things, then remember a couple more things that I need to get, then have to traverse the store because I forgot something else… on more than one occasion I have reached the check out line drained and nearly in tears because I’ve spent an hour staring at shelves and feeling helpless. So often we’re told how people turn to shopping as “retail therapy,” because they feel a sense of control, they see something they want and can have it just by handing over a credit card. I find the opposite has been the case for me. Far from therapeutic, shopping is exhausting, an exercise in my trying to get what I need in the face of feeling controlled by the vendor setting the terms.

Don’t even start me on living with teenagers. There is no control there. But buckling up for the ride and loving them no matter what has actually been a joy. A nerve-wracking joy, and something that pushes me to pray more than anything else right now, but I’m so grateful for my children.

So often, people offer reassurance by saying “God is in control.” True, but it is not control as the world understands it. God is not the coercive, manipulative god of Greek and Roman mythology, a superhuman being with the power to magic-up anything he wants. What we see in Christ on the cross is love that works for our fulfillment, but not in the ways the world expects. Herod and Pilate both thought they had authority of life and death over Christ. Yet the Crucifixion and Resurrection show that God did not control Herod’s or Pilate’s actions, or even Judas’ actions for that matter; far from controlling them, He allowed them to do their worst, but their worst could not do as much as His best. All acted freely, yet God’s will was still achieved in that freedom, the destruction of death by death and the establishment of our hope of eternal life.

Daily I am given the opportunity to choose, to wear myself out with “might have beens,” to wonder if I could have done anything differently that might have resulted in either of my wives living instead of dying. Instead I want to live with thankfulness, to live with gratitude for those that God has blessed me with, and to grow in love for those that I might not feel as thankful for. As I let go of the need for control, the feeling that I must coerce, that I can or must ensure outcomes, I find more and more freedom to love.