I’ve always admired my friend Linda for the extraordinary way she took care of her husband.

Jerry had enough health problems for several men. First he lost his vision. He could see shapes but couldn’t see who was standing in front of him.

Then his kidneys failed and he needed dialysis. He said he didn’t want to spend his life going three times a week to sit through the long dialysis process. He only agreed if Linda would stay with him.

Then came two brain tumors doctors didn’t think he would survive followed by a time when he literally died when his heart shut down.

Through it all he kept his sense of humor, saying he was the invincible man that refused to die.

And through it all, all seven years of that medical trauma, Linda stayed by his side, feeding him and finding ways to keep him happy.

I am Linda’s close friend and I can tell you this: She never complained and never resented giving up all her life for her role as a caregiver.

“I love him,” she said simple. “I would do anything for him.”

When he had to be hospitalized she sat by his bedside, sleeping in a chair by his bedside to stay close to him.

By no matter how much she tried she couldn’t control the inevitable.

When Jerry died I knew Linda was going to be in a bad way. She lost more than the love of her life. She lost her role as caregiver and what had been her purpose in life.

From experience, I know the empty feeling and loss of identify when you lose a beloved spouse.

I really don’t like that expression “Losing a spouse.” The person who passed away isn’t lost. It’s the surviving partner who is lost.

Strong, capable Linda could do nothing but cry.

After two months I took her to an excellent grief support group where her tears were easily understood by others. There was instant bonding and warm friendships in bloom.

When Linda left there she had 12 new friends, several social events on her calendar, and telephone numbers to call if she wanted to talk.

I’ve been to several grief support groups and even ran one at our church. But I never experienced such strong social bonding and caring.

What worked well was the sharing where it became clear everyone there understood because they experienced much of the same emotions.

At one point in the meeting we were given pen and paper to write down what was in our heart. Most found it helpful to write the letter to their departed loved one.

Afterward those who were open to it read their letter out loud.

I told them about my own experience when my husband Andy passed away.

I’m not a crier. Yet, at the first overnight retreat I attended I did nothing but cry.

A few months later I went to a women’s retreat where we were given retreat notebooks and encouraged to sit outside under a tree. Our assignment was to write what was in our heart.

I am a writer and am seldom lost for words. Normally I can fill a notebook with my thoughts.

But in response to the request to write what was in our heart I only wrote two words.

“What heart?”

When Andy died my heart seemed to have turned to ashes.

That experience told me I was a long way from being healed.

It was something my friends couldn’t understand. “But you’re such a strong person,” they said. “Your husband was sick for many years. Surely you had an easier time recovering because you were prepared for it.”

Unless you go through it, you can never understand it is impossible to prepare yourself for the loss.

There is also a misconception about how long it takes someone to heal after the death of a loved one. Some families insist the grieving person should “just get over it.”

Everyone is different. There is no such thing as a normal timetable to recover.

And here’s another truth. While it does get better, much better, the sense of loss can last a lifetime.

One gentleman in the grief support group said it’s been three years since his wife died. While he has recovered enough to get back to his normal activities, he said every time he sits alone at the kitchen table he’s filled with loneliness.

My own loneliness after Andy’s death lifted after I moved to Florida. New surroundings with no memories helped. So did immersion in new activities.

It was the djembe drumming class in Bethlehem that started my healing and the Florida sunshine and water activities that completed my healing journey.

I soon discovered a strong sense of gratitude had replaced all grief.

Eventually, when you have traveled far enough in the grief process you find yourself grateful for every day. You are thankful for each experience as well as each person that comes into your life.

If you are struggling with grief I strongly recommend trying a grief support group. And make it a point to say yes to new experiences.

As long as we are given the gift of life it is up to each of us to make the most of every day we are given.

Every day is truly a gift.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net