Tips for how to cope with ‘flying solo’

Di Phillips and her husband  Ted spent the morning at one of Southeast Queensland’s  biggest shopping malls and decided to  have a coffee.

“The usual?” Ted asked and went to order the drinks while Di found a table.

They were the last words he ever spoke to her. Shortly afterwards, she heard what she describes as a “kerfuffle” and a call for the ambulance – Ted had dropped dead of heart failure.

“And just like that, I was a widow,” Di says now, after six years.

Gary Westerbrook’s wife Liz died two years ago from breast cancer.

“It was such a long, miserable death,” says Gary, recalling that time. “And the collateral damage on the whole family was terrible, too. I thought I would never get over it. I went through the motions, but for a long time I just wasn’t there.”

Di and Gary have become good friends after meeting at a U3A course. They enjoy each other’s company and go on outings together but are not a couple.

“I was a late-teen bride,” says Di.

“I was married to Ted for 51 years. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was learn how to go it alone. But I did it, I learned a lot and now I value my independence.”

When you find yourself on your own after losing the partner with whom you’ve spent most of your years, it can feel like the end of life as you’ve known it.

You’ve lost your shared history and the future planned together.

If the loss is sudden, as with Di, the shock alone can be severe to the point of mental paralysis. And even if the partner’s death has been expected, there is still a sense of disbelief. How can this happen to me? What happened to ‘us’? What do I do now? How do I do it?

Those who have bravely faced reality and made sensible preparations fare better than those who don’t. Wills, end-of-life planning, advanced care directives, financial information and access sharing should be in place for couples of any age.

But the list of post-mortem requirements can be long and grim – funeral arrangements, death certificate distribution, notification to Centrelink and other government agencies/authorities, financial institutions and all those with whom you had accounts in joint names (from service providers to body corporate managers, if you live in a unit).

When my husband of 56 years died, I found he had left me a closely-typed, four-page list of instructions. They included his passwords, people to be notified and even a schedule for getting the car serviced.

We’d discussed it all in advance and had plenty of time to plan but there were still things that got overlooked.

For example, he had set up the system for automatic toll payment, linked to his credit card. After he died, and I had cancelled his card, windowed envelopes with the word ‘Linkt’ on them kept arriving, addressed to him.

The name meant nothing to me and, thinking the envelopes must be from one of the several societies to which he belonged, I gaily chucked them in the bin … until the day I opened one and realised it was a demand notice for several hundred dollars’ worth of motorway tolls I’d run up for two years, including penalties – linked to my licence plate but in his name. I rang Linkt and explained. Fortunately, they were  very understanding.

I consider myself to be a ‘successful’ widow: one who just carried on without resorting to booze, pills or counselling. I’d always had a good circle of friends and social activities independent of my husband, plus some paid work and many interests and hobbies. To counter the loneliness, I tried to fill every day with meaningful activities and reward myself with little treats – and a few big ones such as an overseas trip.

For me, it was important to reinvent myself as a single person and that means finding new things to do that I didn’t do with ‘him’.

People tell you memories are a consolation but I haven’t yet found that to be so. Instead, I try never to look back and never to look down and I take pride in having tackled the challenges, such as learning to manage my finances, fixing things around the house (despite once super-glueing my hair to the bench when mending a broken ornament) and travelling alone.

On overseas trips, I now go (mostly) on curated tours and cruises, where I meet people with similar interests. I favour those that discount or waive the dreaded single supplement because I like my privacy, but others love the adventure of sharing with strangers and say you meet some interesting people that way. I know that life will never be the same, but life is still good.

Retired aged care worker Kathleen Kirkpatrick agrees. When her husband Ronnie died unexpectedly this year, she organised a large memorial party and was the first of several speakers. She did this with great humour, admirably concealing her grief.

Yet, she has not been afraid to share it with her girlfriends when the tears come, finding this more consoling than going to a professional counsellor, and has carried on with her favourite activities such as singing with a chorus and running art classes for a community group.

Her outlook is determinedly positive – because she’s always been that way: “You just get on with it!”

Iain MacPhail admits that when his wife died after two hard years of battling cancer, he was a physical and emotional wreck and it has taken some time for him to get on his feet emotionally.

His friends admired his stoical exterior, not realising how much he was suffering because, like most of us who have lost our nearest and dearest, he put on a happy face when out and about.

Iain sought counselling and says, now, that it helped him learn how to live with his loss. He tried a new relationship but it was too soon and for now he prefers to remain unattached while enjoying the company of close women friends.

The tendency to rush into new relationships to appease loneliness is common among older people who miss their long-time spouse and feel there is no time to waste in finding the same sort of love and comfort again.

Sex, too, is a factor here. Despite what our grandchildren may think, many people over retirement age and indeed well into their eighties still enjoy active sexual lives.

To quote one widower who says he has found several willing partners through joining a walking group, “We might do it differently but we still do it”.

Certainly, I’ve found that it’s important for men and women now facing life alone to have the company of the opposite sex.

As Di says, “It gives you someone to dress up for. I love my women friends but I’d go mad if I saw nobody else.”

In her experience, if you don’t  already belong to organisations that  offer activities shared with like-minded people, now is the time to join one (or more).

“Only the selfish are lonely,” she says.

There is no shortage of advice out there from friends, family and medical professional as to how to deal with your loss and go forward alone.

The internet offers access to an overwhelming range of professional counselling, some of it a cunningly disguised trawl for customers who know, as do many scammers and con artists, that the grief-stricken are vulnerable.

But there’s also some good stuff there. Based on this and the advice of those who agreed to share their experiences for this article, here are the top tips for a successful solo flight:

• Keep fit. Older age really isn’t for wimps and grief can knock you sideways, physically and mentally. It’s easy to let go when you feel you have nothing left to live for. Prioritise a good diet, sound sleep and exercise.
• If you feel you need help, reach out. Depression is a common sequel to bereavement and it can manifest itself in subtle, insidious ways. Talk to your doctor about finding a psychotherapist who specialises in counselling for your situation and can help you move forward.
• People will tell you that time will heal: it won’t. You just learn to get accustomed to your new solo status. The loss of a partner is not an illness you can get over. The wound heals but you’ll always bear the scar. So, don’t feel bad if you’re still bursting into sudden tears three years after the loss.
• Have a project. The new you needs new challenges and absorbing yourself in something with outcomes is great  for self-esteem.
• If you’re not already fully functional with smart devices, get with the program. We are lucky to live in an age where the world in all its aspects is at our fingertips. You can do anything online – from learning the bassoon to uni courses, from knitting patterns to studying Swahili – and find others who share your situation and feelings.
• Have fun. Do things you’ve always wanted to do – perhaps even those that you would not have done with your partner.

“I’m off to Antarctica,” says Di.

“My husband hated the cold but I don’t mind it and I’ve long wanted to go there.”

She plans three more overseas adventures before she turns 80. “I’m paying for it by reverse-mortgaging my home,” she says. “After all, you can’t take it with you.”

Others who find they have insufficient funds to spread their wings and fly solo can consider personal bank loans of the government’s home equity scheme.

So, there is life after death for those left behind after the loss of a partner.

If you remember the 1960s, you’ll recall how psychiatrist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross made waves by describing the stages of grief as: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

In my own experience and that of others mentioned here, acceptance comes when you realise that you don’t leave your heart behind you: you take it forward with you. Because, as the Titanic song says, “you know that the heart will go on”.