Chapter Two: Life Without Richard

After losing her husband of 37 years, Loraine finds the strength to build a new life while keeping his memory close

This is Loraine’s story, as told by Jeanette Summers. Our “Opening Our Hearts” stories are based on people’s real-life experiences with loss. by sharing these experiences publicly, we hope to help our readers feel less alone in their experience of grief and ultimately, aid them in their healing process. In this post, we tell the story of an 84 year old woman who lost her husband to lymphoma 30 years ago.

I lost my husband, Richard, to lymphoma when he was only 57-years-old.  I was 54.

We’d been together since we were 13 and 15, respectively.  After high school, Richard served in World War II.  As soon as he returned from the Philippines, he and I got married.  I’d completed only one year of college, which I was perfectly content with — I’d always felt a strong pull to marriage and motherhood.

Richard and I lived on a sprawling ranch tucked behind an almond orchard in Tracy, California.  We raised four daughters and twelve Albanian horses.  Richard had a solid, well-paying job with the Bank of America.  I stayed home, tended to the ranch, and cared for the girls.  It was everything I’d ever wanted.

One morning, he woke up saying, “I hurt,” and from thereon out, his journey toward death was a steep, linear plummet.  But we didn’t know this at the time.

The pain spread through Dick’s body; at first, we thought it was his arthritis.  Doctors couldn’t pinpoint the source of the problem.

At the end, they performed surgery on him.  When the surgeon came out of the O.R. to update me, he said, “I can’t do surgery. I don’t know what I’m doing surgery on.” As it turned out, the cancer had traveled to his bones. Within two months of feeling that first twinge of mystery-pain, he was dead.

Dick was taking medication that was outlawed shortly after he passed. Sometimes, I think that maybe this was the cause of his death.

His salary stopped instantly.  I lived off Dick’s life insurance for a little while, but I knew that I’d have to figure out what I was going to do to make ends meet.

It seemed that no one in my life wanted to give me much advice; I suppose they were afraid they’d give me the wrong advice.  Everyone did, however, warn me against making any major life decisions immediately after Richard’s death.  I’d lost my best friend, my companion, the father of my children, my family’s sole provider, and the only lover I’d ever had – how could I think clearly?

But I didn’t listen.  There were absolutely times that I thought I might as well just give up — what was the point of going on?  Of trying to be happy?  But my drive to live well and overcome the hardship of losing Richard overpowered any existing instinct to succumb to my grief.  I took up knitting.  I focused on my children and my grandchildren.  Three months after he passed, I bought a flower shop, which I owned and operated on my own for twenty-two years.  I suppose I learned as I went: a sort of trial-by-fire, which — with luck and elbow grease — turned out to be quite a success.

It’s funny — when Richard was still alive, he’d sometimes go away for work for two or three days on end and I’d always feel terrified in the house without him at night.  But after he died, I said to myself: “No.  I’m not going to be afraid.  I’m just not.” You have to make your own choices in this life; no one else can be brave, strong, or independent for you.

I’ve been a widow for 30 years now.  Every once in a while, someone asks me if I’d ever consider marrying again.  The truth is, I was married to Richard for 37 years – it’s been forever since I’ve dated.  Richard was my “number one.”  I’ve never been as close to any other human being on Earth – not even my daughters, all of whom I adore.

Now, I cry much, much less, even though I think of him at some point every single day. I suppose my memories feel farther away. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get sad in the spring, when I catch a whiff of hay on the air and think of all the mother horses on our ranch giving birth to their babies: Richard’s absolute favorite thing.

There’s an elderly couple who lives next door – John and Janet. They go for long walks together every day.  Sometimes, I watch them from my kitchen window and think, “It would be so nice to be married.”  But I think that I’m just one of those one-guy-only kind of gals. Richard was my everything; my memories of him are enough to sustain me in this life.