The truth about secondary grief after loss
The latest Bridget Jones film explores young widowhood, but when it happened to her, Charlotte Knight explains, nothing could have prepared her for how lost she would really feel
When I first moved to London to work as an editorial assistant, I lived with my best friend and every week, we’d buy The Independent to read Helen Fielding’s column “Bridget Jones’s Diary”. Both being single, we loved it. In it, we saw such parallels in our lives – falling in love with the wrong people, living in debt, and being on constant diets (me more than my flatmate!).
And then I met my own Mr Darcy. Ed, 26, worked at PricewaterhouseCoopers, and when I joined the business in a different team, everybody kept talking about Ed Knight. When I finally met him in a wine bar (it was the Nineties!), I could see why.
It sounds like a cliche, but it really was “eyes across a crowded room” stuff. When we got together, I couldn’t believe that I, an unsporty, uncool girl, had ended up with the good-looking, popular guy. Things moved quickly, and we were married within two years. Four years after that, our first child arrived, followed by two more. I always used to think I was “too lucky”, and then our luck ran out. After 23 years of a wonderful marriage, eight months ago, Ed died suddenly from a devastating stroke. He was just 49 years old.
In my “previous chapter”, I would have been so excited about the new Bridget Jones movie. I had been delighted to find an original copy of Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason at a bookstall at our village festival, which I bought for my daughter. Ed had his stroke the next day. Maybe Bridget knew something?
I am not sure I can bring myself to watch the movie, which sees Bridget navigating love after the loss of her husband. I still feel very fragile, and the fact that my life continues to have parallels with Bridget’s is quite discombobulating.
I am now a sole parent to three wonderful children – Toby, Lexi, and Rory, aged 19, 17, and 12. It breaks my heart that they have lost their dad. It is a physical as well as emotional pain. I cannot stop thinking of all the things in life that their dad will miss – from taking the boys for their first pint at the pub to walking our daughter down the aisle.
I will always be there for them, but I can’t be their dad. I am spending a lot of time on the side of the rugby pitch, but my post-match analysis is dreadful. Cricket season will soon be upon us, which means practising my overarm bowling skills (also dreadful). I am also supporting my daughter through her A-levels in English, fine art, and history – her dad would have been so much better at it than me.
They talk about “secondary grief”. We are all grieving the loss of Ed’s presence, but we also grieve for the things we would have managed or enjoyed together – holidays, parenting, finances, running the house.
My mind also races to the future when I will be on my own. I always used to say that I looked forward to our retirement because I’d married my soulmate. Flying solo as an empty-nester had never occurred to me, but here I am. My eldest son has already left to go travelling around New Zealand, Australia, and southeast Asia. I have spent days crying (again!). We miss him terribly, and knowing how proud his dad would have been of his adventures makes it even harder. In October, two of my children will be at university – in little over a year we will have gone from a household of five to just two.
Lots of people say, “You are strong,” or “You will get through this.” But in truth, I don’t feel strong or brave. That’s when you choose to face something difficult and push through. I didn’t choose what I’m going through – it just happened. Sometimes, it takes all my strength just to get out of bed every morning. I can’t picture ever being fully happy again. I know I’ll get there, but my mind can’t quite grasp it yet.
Bridget’s new storyline sees her finding a new, younger man. Some people seem to assume that a new partner will be the answer, but I need to be able to find happiness on my own first. Although I am quite terrified of being lonely, being single is something I am going to have to embrace. That does not mean I never want to be in a couple again, but I just want to be able to laugh and smile without feeling melancholy as a permanent companion. To be able to enjoy a meal or a weekend away as me; to not cry when I cook a Sunday roast because it is no longer for five of us around the dining table.
I know I have a lot to be grateful for. I have two wonderful sisters and their families who have been my rock. I am also lucky to still have both my parents, whose love and support continue to be boundless. Alongside the support of Ed’s family, I have a wonderful community of friends who have wrapped me in love.
But I have learnt the hard way who my real friends are. A lot of people don’t know what to say, and that is fine, but just being there and listening is appreciated. Walks are good! As is leaving a chicken pie on the doorstep, cleaning the house, or being a taxi service for the children. Being avoided on the station platform (yes, that happens) really hurts. And no, just because months have passed doesn’t mean I am “better”.
Early in my grief, I joined the charity Way – Widowed and Young. It is not a group I ever imagined being part of, but this community has been a constant source of strength and support. Sharing my innermost thoughts with people who “get it” really helps in the dark moments. My fellow widows have helped me see why I feel the way I do and have given me little glimpses of hope. Most importantly, it has created a true sense of belonging in a world where, right now, I don’t feel like I really belong.
My hope is that Bridget gets her happy ever after – she deserves it. And if we can find moments of laughter in a sad story, that is good, too. For now, my own diary is simply about taking it day by day. You never know what your storyline might be. And as Helen Fielding herself said in a recent radio interview, there is always a next chapter.
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