Last night I held a Pity Party. It was a Saturday evening and the weather was deliciously warm and balmy. As the sun went down I turned on the fairy lights on the patio. It looked so beautiful and inviting outside that I had the brilliant idea to pour myself a glass of wine, put on some low-key Jazz music and sit in the pool and watch the stars come out. Sounds lovely? It was…until…..

…my mind suddenly rocketed back to a similar evening when my husband Norbert was alive. The twinkling stars, romantic music and wine were the same except that back then I shared the experience with the man I loved more than anyone in the world. The man who died in a glider crash.

Read: The Day My Heart Broke

The tears sprang up suddenly and I found myself sobbing my heart out and missing him so badly it was a physical pain that clamped an iron claw around my middle. I put the glass of wine down before I spilled it and just let myself succumb to what I realised was going to be a Pity Pool Party for One. After crying myself out I washed off the tears (I was still in the pool) and knocked back the last of the wine like I was dying of thirst.

But why was this happening? I am now 17.5 months into widowhood which means I’m well into the second year. Definitely past those first few months which were a surrealistic nightmare with so much to organise, so much detail to think about…like remembering to eat.

That whole first year was really hard as would be expected, because every birthday, anniversary or festivity brought back poignant memories of when we were a couple. They were like hurdles to overcome. I knew when they were coming and I’d brace myself for the impact by planning ahead for how I was going to cope.

Friends and family rallied around, acknowledging each special day with phone calls, texts, Facebook messages and invitations. Each time the day I’d been dreading became yesterday, I thought..”I did it! I’m strong. I can do this.”

But now I’m well into my second year of widowhood and I expected (like most people) that ‘the worst would be over’. Whenever a birthday or festive or other event comes up I can now say “I’ve done that before so it’s nothing new.” I’ve spent more than a year coping alone and learning to be a single person.

After doing some research I’ve discovered that this is apparently the problem. The second year can be almost as hard as the first…except this time, you don’t have as much support because your smiles and seeming ability to manage your life sends a message that you’re ‘on the mend’…..things are better…..you’re ‘moving on’.

“The first year, I gave myself an imaginary gold star every time I managed to survive another terrible event or day or emotional state….But I don’t get a damn gold star for merely continuing to live my life now. What’s new about year two is this: the reality I face is not new. It is the rest of my life.”

D.C. Widow

“If Year One of widowhood is a struggle for survival, Year Two is the equally difficult struggle to begin living life again. It is hard. Our spouses just keep being dead.”

Lisa Kolb

I am lucky as I still have friends who give me a hug. Hugs are incredibly important to someone who lost the person who was their ‘hugger’. It is a fact of life though that most people have moved on in their own lives and 17 months probably seems a long time for them. Because I look like I’m healing from the traumatic experience, I don’t get as many hugs anymore.

I also don’t get very many people checking in on me to see how I’m going. That was in the first year but now apparently I should be fine. Mostly, I am. But every now and then the silliest thing will start up the tears, and then I’m not so fine.

For those of you who are supporting someone who has lost their partner, just a word of advice not to ‘forget’ them just because a year has gone by. Your caring and contact is just as important now, and perhaps even more so now that the majority of supporters have fallen by the wayside. They won’t need meals anymore but keep talking about their loved one, and keep giving those hugs.

“The one-year anniversary of a spouse’s death is not a benchmark for being healed. It’s merely the day after day 364, followed by 366, 367 and so on. For widows, anticipating relief upon the one-year mark is to be lulled, then hoodwinked, by a false target that implies to others, and even us, that we must be out of the woods, and thus less in need of continued support. “

Lisa Kolb

The journey I’ve been on has been hard work and very complicated as my emotions and ability to get on with life waxes and wanes like the moon. I’ve always known that this was going to be a long haul as if you can get over a relationship in 12 months then it probably means that it wasn’t a very deep relationship.

I know this will be a life-time journey and sometimes the enormity of the loss feels overwhelming, but it is the understanding of those around me who are willing to support me for the duration (and not just the first bit) that makes it survivable.

Last night was a little setback but I know I will have many setbacks and stumbles as I push forward into this life I have yet to understand. I am depending on the people around me to help me for every step because it is a rather lonely journey otherwise. There are rainbows out there though….I’m starting to see them.

It is important for people who are just beginning their grieving journey to know though….it DOES get better. The first day is the worst and if you compare all subsequent days to that one you will see that (apart from some hiccups) that it might be a long journey but it isn’t necessarily all uphill. One day you will look back at that Day 1 and think “Wow…I’ve done OK.”

Are there any other ‘second year+ survivors’ out there? How have things changed over time? Please drop a comment below.

Marlene is an Australian widow who has written about all the good, bad and ugly stuff that happened after her husband Norbert died tragically. Marlene responds to all comments.