grief – AGE IN ACTION

Grief and Loss Among Older Adults

“It was an amputation.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing my wife.”

“I can’t stop thinking about the things I didn’t say to her as she was dying…”

“It’s really okay that he died.”

“I haven’t moved anything. I don’t leave the house. His jacket is still hanging over the back of the chair in my living room.”

“Everything seems pointless.”

“I am lonely. I have no one to go through things with me anymore.”

“He died in my arms. It was so traumatizing.”

“I’m lonely. I miss having someone here to talk to about politics and interesting things.”

These quotes represent a range of thoughts and feelings expressed by bereaved seniors in my clinical practice. Their words speak for themselves. The experience of loss and grief among older Americans is a topic that is under-researched and minimally discussed in the literature and in our culture. It deserves our time and attention.

Wendy Tayer, Ph.D. is a geriatric psychologist and associate professor of psychiatry at UC San Diego Senior Behavioral Health. She is a long time member of SDPA and its Aging Issues Committee.

A Journey To The Unknown

I bought myself a ring. It’s quite delicate. By that I mean it has a very thin band with tiny diamonds and a small pale amethyst, my birthstone, surrounded again by tiny diamond chips. The amethyst is a quatrefoil symbolizing my attempt at balance. And the best part is a surprising diamond-chip leaf that appears from the quatrefoil. To me, that symbolizes growth. I need to grow in this new time. This was an impulse buy, of course. I didn’t go shopping for this. It just appeared to me during a Black Friday shopping trip with my two daughters. And I knew I had to have it. So, I bought it.

It’s my ring to celebrate and remind me that I am starting a delicate new life. A new life without my husband. Just writing this brings tears to my eyes. I miss my steady and loving Bob so much. I could count on him to love me no matter what. With him, I was a part of a marriage. I had a best friend and confidant. Now I am alone.

It’s been two years since he died.

Happy Mother’s Day

I recently lost the love of my life, my husband Bill, to Alzheimer’s. We were married for over fifty years and had an absolutely wonderful life together. I have been really struggling with his loss. I can’t seem to pull out. So much of my life centered around him and I have had great difficulty re-establishing a life on my own. It is as though I have no internal resources, no inner voice to center me and guide me.

My daughter April sent me a remarkable letter for Mother’s Day. She reminded me that in the Jewish culture it is customary to wish someone “Live To 120” that means a hope that they will live not only a long life (like Moses) but also a life of quality and vitality. She remembered in her letter things I would say to her and her sisters to help them with the vicissitudes of life.

“Be your own cheerleader”.

“Make your own happiness”.

“Remember that nothing is life and death, except for life and death”.

July 2024

The Long Descent

Frank Stone was a simple man. He found joy in growing vegetables, walking with his German Shepherd, Bo, watching TV sports, and visiting his Grandchildren. But his true sanctuary was the past 50 years he spent with his wife, Nelly, on the serene shores of the Ammonusic River in Bethlehem, New Hampshire.

Since he had retired from his job as a mechanic at the Chevy dealer in Littleton, Frank enjoyed hiking in the awe-inspiring White Mountains two or three days a week. Nelly supported this activity and occasionally joined him in climbing one of the Twins Peaks or Mt. Eisenhower.

Like the river by their home flowed smoothly, Frank and Nelly Stone enjoyed their retirement. Nelly still worked at Lahouts General Store in Littleton, selling outdoor gear. The place was an institution in the north country, having been present for 60 years. Nelly was a favorite of locals and tourists because of her irreverent ways, “wise guy” attitude, and desire to help customers.