Memories of suffering: Exploring the life story narratives of twice-widowed elderly women

Journal of Aging Studies 23 (2009) 103–113

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Journal of Aging Studies j o u r n a l h o m e p a g e : w w w. e l s e v i e r. c o m / l o c a t e / j a g i n g

Memories of suffering: Exploring the life story narratives of twice-widowed elderly women Kimberly A. DeMichele University of Maryland, Baltimore County, Doctoral Program in Gerontology, 1000 Hilltop Circle, Baltimore, MD 21250, USA

a r t i c l e

i n f o

Article history: Received 14 July 2008 Received in revised form 15 November 2008 Accepted 9 December 2008 Keywords: Suffering Narrative Identity Widowhood Remarriage

a b s t r a c t Narratives of suffering often reflect remembered accounts of past traumas and other significant events in individuals' lives that they deem worthy of public presentation and feel comfortable enough to share. This paper examines the life stories of three elderly women who were widowed early in life (“off-time”), eventually remarried, and were later re-widowed “on time.” Their narratives illustrate the complexities of the transitions from wife to widow and from widowhood to remarriage and back again. Commonalities and differences in the narrative are explored, including how suffering was revealed, with an emphasis on understanding the utility of what the women chose to remember, tried to forget, and opted to reveal about their lives. Also considered is their outright rejection of the identity “widow.” Within the broader discussion of remembering and suffering, how individual histories contextualize reactions to subsequent events is also explored. Published by Elsevier Inc.

Introduction Narratives of suffering are not randomly selected stories people indiscriminately choose to tell. Rather, the narratives described in these papers reflect remembered and constructed accounts of past traumas, critical events, and other significant personal experiences that informants deemed worthy of public presentation and were able to share in the context of an interview. Loss is a common theme in many of the narratives, whether in reference to physical losses, the loss of hope, health, faith, or control, or the loss of long-held and often treasured social roles (Black, 2006; Canham, 2009this issue). Suffering, especially in later life, is also frequently associated with the loss of loved ones. In fact, many of the narratives we gathered reflect themes of bereavement, particularly related to spousal death. This article focuses on how suffering is revealed in the narratives of women who experienced spousal death twice in their lives and pays special attention to what aspects of their lives they chose to reveal.

E-mail address: [email protected]. 0890-4065/$ – see front matter. Published by Elsevier Inc. doi:10.1016/j.jaging.2008.12.004

Spousal bereavement is especially common among older women and is viewed by some researchers as one of the most disruptive events of the life course (Chambers, 2005; Lopata, 1996). Much has been written in the popular press and professional literature that links suffering and loss (e.g., Black & Rubinstein, 2004; Mabry, 2006), and arguably, some of the most grievous suffering in life occurs in conjunction with the death of a beloved spouse (Finn, 1986). Fortunately, as Bennett and Vidal-Hall (2000) pointed out, spousal death is an event most people experience only once in life. Nevertheless, some people are widowed more than once, such as women who are widowed early in life, remarry, and are later widowed again. Although widowhood is most commonly experienced during “old age,” a surprising finding reported by Lopata (1996) is that one-third of all ever widowed women were younger than 40 years of age when their husbands died. The timing of widowhood is critical to understanding its impact. Neugarten et al. (1965) postulated that individuals live out their lives according to culturally constructed time schedules under which certain transitions and life events are culturally prescribed as best experienced at times considered normative (Neugarten, Moore, & Lowe, 1965). Conversely, “offtime” transitions are often associated with negative consequences. Death, for example, is ‘supposed to’ occur late in life

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when people are older, so the deaths of younger persons ‘before their time’ can be more difficult for survivors. Because early widowhood is less expectable than “on time” widowhood, an early or “off-time” spousal death is an out-of-sync life event that is often sudden, almost always traumatic, and for which few individuals are adequately prepared. The timing of the spousal death also affects the transitions which follow, including the likelihood of remarriage. While remarriage among older widows remains relatively rare, American society actually encourages younger widows to remarry, urging them to “get it together” and “move on” (DiGiulio, 1992; van den Hoonaard, 1997). And research indicates that up to half of all American women widowed before age 55 eventually do remarry (Smith, Zick, & Duncan, 1991). Given this, and the fact that women tend to live longer than men, early widowhood obviously increases the likelihood of experiencing widowhood more than once in life. Although widowhood, at any age, is life-altering and often associated with a decline in physical, emotional, and economic well-being, much evidence suggests that younger women, particularly those with dependent children, are least prepared and fare worse following bereavement (DiGiulio, 1992; Hyman, 1983; Smith & Zick, 1986). Whether anticipated or not, widowhood can plunge a surviving partner into crisis. The trauma of spousal death usually precipitates an intense emotional reaction, and the psychological impact of early widowhood may be more severe because “off-time” deaths are often sudden and unexpected and younger women have had less time to acquire practical resources and develop coping skills (Lopata, 1996; van den Hoonaard, 1997). Financial stress can further exacerbate the psychological stress of bereavement, and research demonstrates that the risk of poverty is significantly higher for young widows whose short marriages allowed less time to accumulate assets, wealth, and other resources (Hyman, 1983; Smith & Zick, 1986). Thus, the suffering of younger widows, at least in the short run, may be greater than that of older widowed women. This supposition is supported by the high rates of suicide and alcohol, tobacco, and drug use among women widowed relatively early in life (Kreitman, 1988; Zisook, Schuchter, & Mulvihill, 1990). Yet surprisingly little research has focused on the experience of early widowhood, despite the fact that onethird of all women who were ever widowed were less than 40 years of age when their husbands died (Lopata, 1996). This bias may be related to the fact that younger widows are up to 10 times more likely than older widows to remarry (Lopata, 1996), and an assumption that remarriage is advantageous for widowed women, who are thought to have “fewer concerns” than those who do not remarry (Gentry & Schulman, 1988). Remarriage may mitigate some of the adverse effects of early widowhood by offsetting emotional and economic crises and reducing the likelihood of a decline in well-being. Yet, no matter how many problems remarriage may solve, the act also sets the stage for a subsequent marital disruption, whether by death or divorce. Because women tend to live longer than men, widows who remarry are likely to experience the trauma and suffering associated with the death of a husband more than once in their lives. The purpose of this paper is to explore elderly women's memories of suffering related to spousal bereavement. To do so, the life story narratives of three elderly widows are

explored. The women were widowed relatively early in life (“off-time”), eventually remarried, and were later widowed again (“on time”). Their narratives illustrate the complexities of the transitions from wife to widow and from widowhood to remarriage and back again. This paper explores how suffering is reflected in their narratives, and pays special attention to what the women chose to reveal about their lives and how they do so. Within the broader discussion of the impact of their experiences with suffering, how individual histories shape personal meanings in life and contextualize reactions to subsequent events is also explored. Background While narratives are grounded in memories of the past, they are also constructed on the basis of identity needs and issues of the present. Natzmer (2002) noted that “the struggle over what will be remembered and what will be forgotten” takes place everyday, in a variety of contexts (p. 174). What memories are incorporated into one's story is important, but how both — what is remembered and what is “forgotten” — are incorporated into the self, as it continues to develop, is a crucial aspect to consider when examining the lives of older women who have been doubly widowed. As noted throughout these articles, narrative provides an effective vehicle for reflecting on and synthesizing experiences that are held internally, perhaps in an inchoate emotional form. Constructing a story requires imposing order on these vague thoughts, perceptions, and ideas. As Pillemer (1998) pointed out, “when we say that we ‘remember’ a specific past event, we usually mean that we can produce a detailed narrative description of the episode as it was personally experienced” (p. 4). And while memories are highly subjective and seem individual, exercising memory (e.g., sharing one's story) generally involves others, as we give voice to our perceptions, articulate our experiences, and share our ideals (Climo & Cattell, 2002). Although memory grants us access to the past, the narratives that memories produce are not normally viewed as accurate records of what actually happened in one's life, but rather as present-day reinterpretations of the past (Bruner, 2004). Because memory operates in the present and incorporates an awareness of the past that was not known when the remembered events occurred, the act of remembering entails far more than conjuring up the past (Climo & Cattell, 2002). Remembering involves a uniting of past and present selves and emotions, which allows for an ongoing reexamination and reinterpretation of one's self and experiences. Likewise, the telling and retelling of one's story allows it to be edited and reedited to maintain coherence. In other words, memories are interpretations, and like narratives, memories are highly constructed. Memories of traumatic events, such as losses and other events that disrupt one's life and abruptly alter it, may be an exception. Whereas narrative often focuses on one's recollection of what was thought, seen, heard, and felt at a particular point in time, trauma is thought to disrupt the memory process by severing the connection between past and present and breaking the narrative into a “before” and “after.” Brison (1998) referred to this phenomenon as an “undoing of the self” and noted that many individuals eventually reconstruct

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their identities and reconfigure their lives (p. 39). To do so, she argued, the traumatic event must be incorporated into one's narrative and sense of self. For widowed women, the effect of trauma (e.g., the trauma of bereavement) on identity is an important issue. The transition that follows any marital disruption is usually stressful, and as noted in the Introduction, a number of critical changes occur following the death of a spouse. Not the least of these involves the loss of identity that is commonly associated with the change in social status from “wife” to “widow” (Chambers, 2005; Lopata, 1996; van den Hoonaard, 1997). For example, Chambers (2005) argued that a dominant narrative of widowhood in later life is that of loneliness. Similarly, Lopata (1996) and others, who discussed widowhood as a phenomenon and without specific regard to age, note that widowed women often feel like a “fifth wheel” in social situations. There is also a stereotypical view of a widow as less than whole or no longer complete (Chambers, 2005). One must wonder whether the sense of incompleteness is greater following widowhood at a younger age than after experiencing “on-time” bereavement in later life. People respond differently to loss. The disorganization that follows the death of a spouse may be greater when bereavement is experienced earlier in life than later. Younger widows are often ill-prepared for the roles they must assume. As DiGiulio (1992) noted, young women are not socialized to anticipate what widowhood will be like and younger widows have few role models. Compared to older widowed women, they are generally less prepared to cope with their loss. Therefore, their suffering, at least in the short run, may be greater than older women's. And while remarriage may mitigate some of the adverse effects of early widowhood by offsetting emotional and economic crises, the long-term impact of early crises and suffering is unknown. Presumably, following the death of a spouse, the surviving spouse must undergo a life review that entails confronting memories of the past and mastering its traumatic aspects, if possible. Story construction is a critical element in this process, as the widow forges a new identity, and to a certain extent, new social linkages. The point at which one is able to tell the story of what happened — the story of the death and the loss — the narrative itself begins to shape the person, as the telling the story draws the widow out of the netherworld of loss. The telling of the story diffuses the trauma and can represent a new reality or the beginning of a new life for the widow. In examining the lives of women who have been widowed twice, once early on in adulthood and once again in later life, the question of what of suffering is remembered and what is forgotten or repressed is an important one. Other questions to consider include: Are repressed materials deeper and more painful in later life? Is one spouse or another “the love of my

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life”? How do memories of the first loss play out in late life narratives? Methods This paper is based on an analysis of the transcripts and field notes that resulted from interviews with three elderly women who were interviewed as part of the qualitative study exploring the meaning of suffering among community dwelling adults age 80 and older. Their cases were selected based on the informants' experiences of being female, having been widowed relatively early in life or “off-time” (prior to age 48), having subsequently remarried, and having been later widowed again, more or less “on time.” Each woman was interviewed twice in interviews that lasted an average of one and a half hours. Each of the women, who ranged in age from 84 to 90, was currently widowed and residing in the Greater Baltimore area at the time she was interviewed. Two women resided alone and one shared a residence with an adult child. One woman owned her own home, another co-owned a home with an adult child, and the third lived in an apartment. Only minor diversity in the socioeconomic status of the women was noted; for the most part, they appeared to be of middle-class. Two women were of European American descent and the third was Jewish American. An in-depth analysis of the interview transcripts and field notes was conducted to explore the influence of early widowhood, subsequent remarriage, and later widowhood on narratives of suffering. Narrative analysis (Reissman, 1993) was employed, commencing with an initial reading of each set of transcripts and field notes, followed by a line-by-line analysis of each paragraph and/or response. Texts were then reexamined to locate specific materials about widowhood, (re)marriage, and suffering. Coding was undertaken primarily by the author, but with input from other members of the research team. Salient items were coded and data was sorted and reduced into general themes. It is important to note that informants were not directly asked about suffering relative to their experiences of early widowhood, remarriage, or later widowhood, nor were they asked specifically about their “memories” of suffering or any other topic. Rather, the goal of the research from which these transcripts were derived was to elicit “folk models” of suffering. This was accomplished using open-ended questions and a semi-structured interview format, allowing each informant to construct his or her narrative in the manner he or she saw fit (Black & Rubinstein, 2004). Whereas information that is volunteered is thought to have greater “evidentiary value” than that which is queried (Becker, 1970), the aforementioned model allowed us to explore multiple ways in

Table 1 Demographic details. Widow

Ethnicity

Age at interview

Age at marriage

Age at 1st widowhood

Years widowed

Age at remarriage

Age at 2nd widowhood

Total years widowed

Mrs. A Mrs. B Mrs. C

European Jewish European

84 90 84

21 18 21

37 48 36

7 6 7

43 54 42

50 72 79

40 24 12

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which suffering is experienced. This paper specifically explores the personal memories and meanings of suffering revealed in the narratives of elderly, twice-widowed women. Findings Analysis revealed remarkable similarities in the early lives of these women who were born between 1914 and 1922. As a group, they married young (see Table 1). Their husbands were blue-collar workers, and tragically, each woman's first spouse died a sudden or otherwise unexpected death during marriages that lasted between 15 and 30 years. Each woman was between the ages of 36 and 48 when her first husband died and each was raising dependent children at the time. For the most part, the women worked in traditionally female occupations as clerical and retail workers. All remained widowed for approximately 7 years prior to marrying a second time, and from there, their paths diverge. Within the narratives, four general themes emerged: 1) presentation of the first husband; 2) the impact of his death, 3) the utility of remarriage, and 4) suffering, past and present. The three case studies are presented here. Case 1: Mrs. A Mrs. A. is an 84 year old woman of European-American descent who resides in a suburban townhouse she co-owns with her only daughter. A self-described “Rosie the Riveter” who worked as an inspector on a radio chassis line during World War II, she later did clerical work and initially retired at age 62. A short time later, “I got on my own nerves and went back to work for another 15 years.” Poor health forced her second retirement, at the age of 80, and prompted her to begin regularly visiting the local senior center where she was interviewed. It was the facilitator of her weekly reminiscence group at the center who recommended her for the study. Almost immediately during the first session, Mrs. A. disclosed she had been married twice. My first husband was a painter. He belonged to the local union. And my second husband, he worked for, uh, where was he working? I forget… Unlike the others in this analysis, Mrs. A had considerable difficulty remembering. Her memory impairment was immediately apparent when the interview began, as she struggled to recall dates and other details, usually without success. At one point she stated, “I just hope it isn't Alzheimer's. That's all I need.” When asked to describe a “best time” in her life, she reached back more than 60 years and recounted with surprising clarity the day her first husband returned home from the Second World War. Oh my God, I remember to this day! I was coming from work and here's my husband walking down the street. Boy, I flew at him! I knew he'd be home soon, but I didn't know he was coming that day. And here he comes walking down the street in his sailor suit, his hat cocked on one side…Boatswain's Mate, First Class. He had stripes down the arm, uh huh. Oh my goodness! That was the good times then.

The happiness of her first marriage was abruptly interrupted by her husband's unexpected death following abdominal surgery; Mrs. A did not understand why he died. She was 37 years old at the time of his passing and the couple had been married 16 years. I didn't expect him to die. He was in the hospital, operated on for what they thought was a perforated ulcer. But it wasn't. There wasn't anything wrong with his stomach. And then he got double pneumonia and died. Passed right away. When asked about “worst times” in her life, Mrs. A. was especially quick with her reply, citing the two events in her early life that left her feeling utterly alone. “When my husband went in the service…and when he passed away. When he passed away, then I got an empty, empty life.” Although she “had a heck of a time recovering” from the impact of his sudden death, she found solace in the Church. When I was at work, I'd walk up to St. Jude's and go in there for my lunch hour. It was calming. You get things off your mind. They're not as rough as when you went in. I'd go in and I'd cry — tears are a good release. Its helps an awful lot if you can cry. And finally things changed. Not right away, but my outlook, my feelings, eased up. It wasn't so terrible — the pain inside me. Because that's what it was. It's inside here [motions to her chest]. You just have a constant pain. Now that I would say would be suffering. Mrs. A. initially identified the “terrible pain” and feeling of emptiness in her heart that followed her husband's death as suffering. Later, when asked to define the term “suffering,” she described it as “rough” and drew on past experience to offer up an example of its impact: the sense of helplessness she felt following her husband's death. She described suffering: Not as pain, but as a situation where you just didn't know how you were going to cope. You're short of money, how you gonna pay this bill? That was my problem. Until the next payday, that one will have to wait because I have to buy groceries. That's what made it hard. Sometimes you just didn't have enough money, with groceries, gas and electric, telephone, money for my daughter's clothes. I just didn't make that much money. Remarriage helped Mrs. A. resolve her financial problems and the loneliness that early widowhood inflicted, but brought about issues of its own. We needed each other. He didn't have a home and I did. And I cared for him. I'm sorry. A couple of people were against it, but it was the companionship. We used to go places. We'd go on vacation. It was nice. While her first marriage was based on love and mutual attraction, her second was built on reciprocity and mutual affection. Her second husband filled a void in her life and about that she was unapologetic. But the contentment remarriage brought to her life was short lived. We were only married about 6 years, and then one day, he got up, went in and took a shower, put clean underwear

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on, came back, lay down on the bed and died. Ruptured aorta. Just like that. Oh, that was scary. I shook him, I tried to wake him. I called a friend across the street and he came over and said better call an ambulance. [softly] They never said he was gone. [normal voice] I got to the hospital, they told me he was DOA. [pause] That was that. I never bothered anymore. The heck with this — I'd rather be alone! Despite the distressing circumstances of his death, losing her second husband was less difficult for Mrs. A. than losing the first. However, being twice widowed by age 48 took a heavy toll and she was unwilling to make such an emotional investment again. Following the death of her first husband, Mrs. A. suffered bouts of depression for which she received treatment. In her description of suffering, she differentiated between suffering and worry and sadness. She also made distinctions between sadness related to “mere” grief and the profound sadness related to her first husband's death. Her sadness qualified as suffering because it was associated with depression, an illness. Suffering is something I would connect with an illness. But a worry or a sadness is entirely different. Someone passes away, you're sad. Someone you love dearly, very bad sadness. And you've got to pull yourself together and go on, for yourself and for the rest of the family. And uh, I had a time there when I was very depressed, but it came out alright. I got out of it. I had to take medicines, but it got me out of it, anyhow. Paradoxically, she viewed suffering as both an illness one is stricken with and something that people “let” overwhelm them — conversely, an affliction which is beyond one's control and a burden one should be able to control. The need for control seems the key here; people need to pull themselves out of suffering, as she did. Mrs. A. also referenced suffering's pain, and pointed out, “Suffering can be debilitating. Everything hurts. This hurts. That hurts.” She offered the following advice for dealing with it: Go to someone, talk to them. Maybe they know somebody that does know how to help you get you out of the depth of torture you're in. The sadness — the suffering as you call it — I don't know how anyone would let themselves suffer or be sad or not take the time to talk to someone to bring them out of it. You just can't cope — that's how people commit suicide. They don't confide in anyone. They don't let themselves be helped…You've got to pull yourself together and go on, for yourself and for the rest of the family. What is that serenity prayer? Oh, what I can change or make right or something. Well, that's what I was doing. What can you do about it? Nothing, nothing you can do. So straighten up, take care of yourself, take care of your home, go to church, do your work, clean the house, and keep quiet. It's the only thing you can do. Again, Mrs. A. highlights the contradictory nature of suffering. She points out how some people allow themselves to suffer and refuse to seek help, which she views as the way out of that “depth of torture.” She later suggests that there is nothing one can do to overcome suffering except to

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“straighten up” and “keep quiet.” This illustrates two paradoxes of suffering: that suffering may feel uncontrollable, yet it should be under our control, and that sometimes it must be acted upon, at other times, ignored. Mrs. A had seemingly no choice but to “manage” the suffering that followed her first husband's death; it was something she needed to “get through” in order to regain control of her life. This required effort and a conscious fight, for coping often meant ignoring her pain. Her young daughter needed her, so she did what she had to do to: she went to work and tried to make a good life for herself and her child. At times, such as during lunch hours she spent at St. Jude's, she allowed herself to cry and experience the pain. Ultimately, it was her faith that sustained her during periods of past suffering. The best thing I would do, if I felt that things were too hard for me to cope with — go to someone. Don't take it all on you. God will help you if you go to Him. Go to St. Jude's. Light a candle. Say a prayer. It helped me. Yes it did. St. Jude, Saint of the hopeless. Despite obvious memory impairment, Mrs. A. vividly recalled details of both husbands' deaths and the suffering that ensued. This may indicate that these parts of her narrative were often repeated and perhaps even wellrehearsed. Alternately, her memory impairment may have allowed her to let her guard down, if during the early stages of dementia, individuals are less bound by social conventions for normal conversation. Her vivid description of suffering, clearly suggests familiarity with the subject, although her personal experience with it apparently ceased when she regained control of her life. Although Mrs. A. suffers from several health problems and expressed concern about her failing memory, she indicated she was not presently suffering. Apparently, current worries about declining health and abilities pale in comparison to the trauma, loneliness, and hardship experienced as a result of widowhood earlier in life. Case 2: Mrs. B Mrs. B. is a 90 year old Jewish woman whose stylish appearance belies her age. She has three daughters and resides alone in an upscale but meagerly furnished apartment. Her first interview took place in the lobby; the second was conducted in a small sitting room in her home. She had three heart attacks and walks with difficulty even with a cane, yet she described her current health status as “good.” Her optimism and positive outlook were apparent through the interviews. Mrs. B., who was first widowed at age 48, brought up the death of her first husband early in the first interview, as she described her good fortune and determination. In life, everything is what you make of it. You know what I'm saying? I am a very lucky person because God was good to me. My first husband died in my arms. He was only 52 years old. But I went right back to work. I think you have to convince people that you can't sit down and say, ‘Oh, what am I going to do?’ You know what I mean?

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They all laugh at me and they always kid me about, but it is true. It is true. You have to go on, no matter what. Like Mrs. A., Mrs. B. views grief as something that is best set aside, something that should be endured rather than given in to. Regaining control of life is imperative, because life goes on and self-pity gets you nowhere. Both women consider this a lesson that others could benefit from learning. Appearances are important to Mrs. B., who for many years worked as a florist and reports that she did over 9,000 weddings during her career. “Perfection” is a recurring theme in her narrative. Although she recognizes that “with happiness there is always sorrow,” her frequent use of words such as “wonderful,” “beautiful,” and “lovely” paint an image of a picture-perfect life. In her narrative, her first husband is portrayed as a mythical character — the perfect and loving spouse who treated her “like a queen.” I was madly in love with my first husband. We had 30 beautiful years. We loved one another very much. As my daughters always say, ‘we learned from you and Daddy.’ There was no yelling, no arguments, no nothing. Once in a while, you know, oh, if I didn't have his shirts starched the way he liked them, he would get angry. But he was a very, very wonderful father. He was always very kind — it was a beautiful time in my life. He was really a wonderful, kind person. That's why I was heartbroken when he died at 52, right in my arms...His death was sudden…His heart — out of nowhere — just 1, 2, 3 and he died. So it was a long time before I — at that time I was heartsick. Now a lot of people, their husbands weren't a main part of life. Mine was. He — we did everything. This passage perhaps illustrates selective remembering, or what Climo and Cattell (2002) described as an “official memory” (p. 4). Seemingly, Mrs. B. and her daughters have communicated and constructed a single agreed upon version of the past, a public myth, so to speak. This is not to say that Mrs. B.'s account is false, for as Pillemer (1998) noted, the details can be wrong while the story itself remains true. Mrs. B. eventually remarried. However, she spoke surprisingly little of her second husband, except to describe the financial impact of the remarriage on her life. I am very comfortable. I'm being taken care of, financially. My second husband — I remarried after 6 years — was a very nice man. I was married to him for 17 years. He wouldn't quit work because he said that he's going to wait as long as he can, so I get a nice thing from the government and that's what I live on. Mrs. B. carefully framed each event in her life, no matter how tragic or traumatic, as a positive. For example, when asked to define suffering, Mrs. B. began: I have had 6 hernias. Do you ever hear of 6 hernias? In other words, first I had 2 with a gallbladder. Then I felt sick one day and I called my daughter and I said something's not normal, something is wrong. They took me in — I woke up there were 7 doctors around my bed and I said, ‘I'm getting ready to die, huh?’ They said, ‘no, but nobody ever had 6 hernias.’ They operated on me and I'm cut from here all the way down. So,

believe me, I suffered. And of course I've had three heart attacks — three! — so if you want to know what I went through — that was suffering. And of course, my husband died in my arms. At 52, a very tall, handsome, wonderful, wonderful father and that was hard for me to get used to — the first husband. And I was a widow for 6 years. And the Lord has been good to me, because, for example — I went to dinner two weeks ago, we went out to the Steak and Ale, have you ever been there? After listing the most serious of her physical conditions (six hernias and three heart attacks), Mrs. B. mentioned her first husband's death and how hard it was to “get used to.” While this suggests that she suffered during the time immediately following his death and perhaps during her 6 years of her initial widowhood, these are not memories that Mrs. B. chooses to share. She refuses to dwell on life's unpleasantness. Instead, at the mere mention of suffering — or anything that is distasteful or objectionable — she is consistently quick to change the subject. Contributing to her present suffering is the fact that in the past, Mrs. B provided a great deal of financial help to her family, purchasing homes and paying for items, such as college tuition, adoption fees, and funeral expenses, whenever asked. Now, in light of her dwindling financial resources, she is increasingly anxious about her continued ability to fulfill this role. With so much of her identity based on contributions made to her family, her sense of self is challenged more and more. I told you I'm very lucky, because I took things in the stride. You know what I'm saying? Right now I have a sonin-law who needs a new heart. I'm worrying, but I don't let my daughter know that I'm worrying about it. I just say, honey, remember if you need me, I'm here. When they built their house and they needed money, Mama was here. My other daughter was moving and her children were going to college and she needed money — ‘Mom, I need $5,000.’ I said there will be a check in the mail. You know what I'm saying? So I depleted much of my money, but I live on Social Security, thank God. Mrs. B. also senses an overall change in family dynamics. When you talk about unity — sisters have to help one another, which they do — but they don't tell me. Now my one of the little babies, my granddaughter had a little girl, and she was only 14 months old and passed away. She was born not good, with a bad heart and bad liver. But they did not tell me that she died. They finally told me when the three of them were with me, and I said you got some nerve. They said, Mother, what good would it have done if we told you? What would it have done? What good? One week earlier, at the insistence of her daughters, Mrs. B. surrendered her driver's license. She remains extremely upset about this event and its implications. My children feel that people at my age, regardless, it's not fair to other human beings. You read about the man that went into that market and killed 10 people. And they kept

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on saying, ‘Mom, I don't care what you say. When you get your age, even though you think you can do everything — it's not fair.’ Now see what happens? My girls talk to one another, e-mail one another, and all three had the same reasons. ‘Mother, now listen’ — and each one said the same thing. So I knew they got together against me and I'm very upset about this. I feel I'm capable and I feel that I could do it, but the three of them ganged up on me. They said, ‘Mother you've got to listen. Don't be stubborn. Don't be hard-headed.’ So I gave it up. Do you realize what it means? Mrs. B. senses she is no longer a participant in conversations with her daughters but rather has become the subject of them. Instead of speaking with her, her daughters now talk to her. She no longer feels that they are on her side and worries that they are conspiring against her. Aside from the obvious blow to her ego, Mrs. B. fears she is growing expendable in her daughters' lives. Not only do they need her less, but she is increasingly less able to help them. “Because I'm cleaned out. I helped my children and I don't have much left. But I'm managing — it's all about how you accept it.” Although acceptance of her present suffering is a task that Mrs. B. has not yet mastered, one surmises that she successfully managed her past suffering, if only by rewriting the official version of her narrative to make it better fit her romanticized notion of a near-perfect life. This is not to say that the version she presents is false, for this account rings true to her. Yet the narrative she presents has a certain rehearsed quality to it, giving it a pretense not unlike that of her upscale but sparsely furnished home. Only through small cracks in the façade of a near-perfect life do we occasionally catch a glimpse of any suffering, past or present. Case 3: Mrs. C Mrs. C. is an 84 year old European American woman who resides alone in a modest but impeccably clean suburban home. She has two children, a son and a daughter, and described her health status as good. She devoted much of her life to community service; she has been active in her current church for more than 60 years, volunteers regularly at a local senior center, and for more than 25 years, volunteered at a local mental health center. When she was approached about this project, she eagerly volunteered. The interviews took place in her home. Mrs. C, who is originally from a distant Southern state, mentioned the death of her first husband early during her first interview.

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highlight of my life.” His sudden death left her devastated. “My heart was broken, broken, broken.” She hints at the trauma and concedes that the aftermath was not easy, but does not share the most painful details. Deep down I knew it was okay. That God did it — that's what life and death is all about. We're all going to go. But burying my first husband and getting through that — the kids were still very young. And I did not realize I was angry at him for dying and leaving me — I didn't call it that. But I did handle it…We got through it, by really pinching pennies… I didn't know it then, but his dying made me a much bigger person. Like Mrs. A. and Mrs. B., Mrs. C. referred to her husband's death as an ordeal she needed to handle and get through, and she hints at the identity transformation the pain and process prompted. This is discussed in greater detail in the Discussion section. When asked if she ever remarried, Mrs. C. replied, “Yes. But I didn't intend to.” Seven years after the death of her first husband, financial worries and a looming “empty nest” partially motivated her decision to remarry. “I got laid off. I wanted my son to go to college, and my daughter was engaged to be married in September. And I thought, it's not, fair.” So she married a handsome executive with whom she worked. I didn't mean to fall in love with him — really I didn't. Because, well, the first marriage you know is the love of your life. But I did come to love him very, very much. Not as romantically as my first marriage, but he was good for the whole family. And the kids were glad. The new marriage enriched Mrs. C's life in numerous ways and she relished her return to the role of wife. In narrating their love story, Mr. C. emerged as a hero, the well-mannered bachelor who saved the day in the rags-to-riches story of her life. Yet, no matter how many problems remarriage may solve, it potentially sets the stage for a subsequent marital disruption. Their marriage lasted 36 years, but the final 9 years of his life were spent in nursing home. He had a right rough time. He had Parkinson's and was declared legally blind along the way. He stopped driving but with the help of optic aids, he was able to continue working for 2 years. But the Parkinson's got progressively worse after he retired on disability. Of course, I wanted to mother him, but “don't help me, I'll do it” — he was very independent. That was not a problem, but he got so bad that he was falling and he broke his hip and had to go to a nursing home. That's when I went to Hell and back — when the doctor wouldn't let him come home.

I was 36 and he died of a heart attack…left a son and a daughter and me. It wasn't easy. All my folks thought I should move back home where they could be of some help to me because I had no other relatives here. But I had bought this house — we rented it first and then when they sold them we bought it — and the last payment was due the next month after he died. So the house was paid for and I had gotten a job and I chose to stay here — a wise decision.

Mrs. C. described the experience as “worse than a death.” The cost — over $3,000 a month — rapidly depleted their savings, and she experienced the range of emotions usually associated with bereavement: grief, guilt, anger, and profound sadness.

She later described her early life with her first husband as the “best time” in her life — “the highlight, absolutely the

I got so depressed, I didn't want to do anything but sleep. How do you light a candle just for yourself? Cook one potato,

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you know? There was nothing to do but go see him. And you know what hurt worse? He looked good when he went in. He did. But those poor old people tied in the Geri chairs in the hallway. Oh, I would have to sit and cry and pray before I went in. Finally I accepted it — that's the way it is. I had an awful time with that, but I finally got so I could hug and leave — kiss him on the cheek. When the interviewer arrived for the second interview approximately two weeks later, she was startled by the drastic change in appearance of both the informant and her home. She looked older and more tired, and her hair was disheveled. Papers and dishes were scattered about the house which had been so impeccably neat during the previous visit. Mrs. C. said she was taking medication that made her dizzy and had recently fallen and “cracked” her head. Although the interviewer offered to postpone the interview, she insisted on completing it that day. It seemed there was much more she needed to say: Listen, there are things in here that I kind of left out — I guess I didn't even talk about them the other day. I told you I've been to Hell and back a lot of times. When asked about the “worst times” in her life, Mrs. C began to weep as she poured out her story, stopping only when interrupted by a knock at the door. This portion of her narrative, which filled two single-spaced pages when transcribed, described the major losses in her life, starting with a crisis of faith, since resolved, that occurred during childhood when God did not answer her prayers to heal her bed-ridden mother. Without pausing, she continued with stories of suffering, recounting the experience of sending her son overseas during the Vietnam war; the deaths of two newborn grandchildren; the death of her first husband; the death of her mother whose funeral she could not attend; the death of her second husband; and the guilt she still harbors for going against his wishes and allowing the doctor to insert a feeding tube shortly before he died. The knock at the door was Mrs. C's grandson; he dropped by to check on her. He was obviously concerned about her because of the fall, but throughout his brief visit, her demeanor changed to upbeat and cheerful. Referring to herself in his presence, Mrs. C. said, “I am such a — and I'm bragging — well-adjusted 84 year old widow. I have the best time and I live every day as if it was my last!” But immediately following his departure, she resumed her narrative exactly where she left off, completely unprompted by the interviewer, and said “Oh, another sad time…” When the interview topic turned to suffering, the questions seemed redundant, given how much suffering she had already described. When asked to define “suffering,” she replied: I think of not being able to get up out of bed and do whatever you want to be. I think it would be such an adjustment, and yes, I have known that I'm not going to be able to walk three miles many more years. Her response suggests that she expects to suffer more as time goes on. She viewed her suffering to date as “situational” and also viewed it as a normal part of life. “It has to be. If we

didn't suffer then how could we be so happy, you know? It goes kind of hand in hand with — life hurts — but it is so good.” When asked if she'd ever had an experience so difficult that she couldn't talk about it, Mrs. C. saw an opportunity to unburden herself. Yes, I've had some experience that I didn't want anybody to know or I didn't want to discuss. Things I was ashamed of — being taken advantage of by a man. I've never talked about it with anybody. I wrote about it and then burned it up. So I've done that because I've never wanted to talk about it. And it was while my last husband was still living. I had an affair. The indiscretion occurred following the institutionalization of her second husband. The man, a fellow volunteer at the senior center, comforted her one day when he found her crying — and she did not know he was married. We got to be much too close. And I am so ashamed of it and I put all the faith in him. I trusted him from the bottom of my heart. I now know beyond any doubt that he's a womanizer. He was hitting on every woman he could — anything that moved. And I had an awful hard time recovering from that because I cared about him. That was a suffering of sorts, because I couldn't sleep for a lot of nights. An important theme in her narrative is that of personal responsibility. Mrs. C. freely admits that she is responsible for the choices she made. It is her life and she is in charge of it. While she is certainly not personally responsible for all that has happened to her, she accepts total responsibility for the way she thinks and feels. As the interview ended, Mrs. C was asked about the purpose of her suffering and other suffering she had witnessed in her life. She replied: Well, we weren't promised that life would be without suffering. I believe, yes, there's a purpose for everything that happens to us — it probably happens for a reason. And I've always believed that nothing is ever so bad that some good doesn't come from it. Mrs. C's sense of optimism and ability to see the world in a positive light, no matter how cruel her experiences in it are, reveals much about her. Amidst suffering and hardship, she found plenty of opportunities for personal growth. Each of the “worst times” in her life involved a situation over which she initially felt powerless, and her suffering centered on the loss of control of the circumstances of her life. Yet, Mrs. C., like Mrs. A. and Mrs. B., proved herself to be both strong and capable of regrouping. In most cases, she was able to “make it right” and transform the situation — or at least the way she thought about it — into something more manageable and under her control. Guilt, however, appears to be a type of suffering that is more difficult to control. Mrs. C.'s narrative suggests there is much she feels guilty about — falling in love again and moving on after the death of her first husband, not attending her mother's funeral, not honoring her second husband's final wishes. There are a number of things she feels she could have done better, but it is the guilt she harbors over her affair with another man that is the most difficult to control.

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Her disclosure of the affair was not incidental. At the start of the second interview, Mrs. C. indicated there were things she had left out during the previous session. The omission weighed heavily on her in the following weeks and she seized the opportunity to share one of her heaviest secrets with the interviewer, an interested but impartial stranger. It was a secret she had harbored alone for more than 15 years. Her account of the years of silent suffering that ensued suggests that the guilt she experienced after seeking solace in the arms of another man remains hers alone. Discussion As noted above, four general themes emerged within the above-presented narratives: 1) presentation of the first husband, 2) the impact of his death, 3) the utility of remarriage, and 4) suffering, past and present. Presentation of the first husband by the three informants was largely glowing, and each remembered her first husband as an exceptional and wonderful man. Their assessments of the quality of their first marriages were similarly enthusiastic. Mrs. A. referred to her first marriage as a “best time,” while Mrs. B. called hers “a beautiful time in my life,” and Mrs. C. described “absolutely the highlight of my life.” It is especially noteworthy that when each woman referenced “my husband,” it was the first husband to whom she referred, even though their first husbands had been deceased an average of 45 years. Loyalty towards a deceased spouse is not uncommon in remarriage (Moss & Moss, 1981), and Lopata (1996) suggested that idealization to the point of sanctification may help widows to distance themselves from the deceased and move on. Although American society does encourage younger widows to remarry — urging them to “get it together” and “move on” (DiGiulio, 1992; van den Hoonaard, 1997) — the informants' accounts illustrate the enduring nature of an initial marital bond. In each informant's narratives, the first husband set the standard against which the second husband was compared. Although each informant was married to her second husband for a number of years and loved him, there was something more authentic about her relationship with her first husband. It was more “on-time” than the second marriage and figured more in the context of a family with young children, perhaps the archetype of the traditional American family. Nevertheless, this does not rule out the possibility that the second marriage might make up for deficiencies in the first, particularly in terms of financial or emotional security. Undoubtedly, many goals set during the first marriages were fulfilled during the second. In all cases, the impact of the death was profound. The entirely unexpected death of each woman's first husband upended her life and disrupted her vision of the future. Yet, contrary to van den Hoonaard's (1999) finding that some widowed women will recount the experiences of their husbands' deaths entirely unasked, the informants provided few details of their devastating experiences. Largely absent in their retelling was their distress. Instead, their narratives focused on the consequences of their husbands' untimely passing, which ramified from grief and uncertainty to financial and social decrements. In fact, all three informants downplayed the impact of their experience. They hinted at the trauma, describing “an empty, empty life” and a heart that

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was “broken, broken, broken,” and conceded that the aftermath was difficult, but omitted the painful details. Although some degree of ‘selective remembering’ might be at play here, Climo and Cattell (2002) remind us that memories also exist in narrative gaps. The informants' untold stories of being thrust into unwelcome roles (e.g., single parent) and the financial struggles and loneliness they experienced may be too painful to recount, yet too terrible to forget. Also missing in the informants' narratives are specific details of how the women reconstructed their lives. Clearly their husbands' deaths had major impacts on their identities and social roles. Although none used this specific term, each informant spoke about a period of “recovery” from the loss, often a period of many years. In the stories they tell, the six to seven year period between the widowhood and remarriage is summarized quickly, which elides the certain day-to-day difficulties they must have encountered. Yet each pointed out that she triumphed over the hardships in her life, perhaps as proof she was not helpless and her life was never truly out of her control. For these women, remarriage had a certain utility. Younger widows tend to remarry for practical reasons, such as maintaining a household, help raising minor children, and achieving stability and financial security (Lopata, 1996). Thus, their second marriages were not as romantic as the first, or perhaps even were not romantic at all. In a certain way, these women had expended a great deal of emotional effort recovery from their first husbands' deaths. Robbed of their “illusion of invulnerability” (Janoff-Bulman, 1992), they had learned that life is not always fair. The sense of innocence and naiveté that they possessed when they entered their first marriage with could never be regained in the second. Accordingly, they regarded their second marriage as more pragmatic than their first, and perhaps more governed by rationality. This is not to say that the informants' second marriages were less beneficial or rewarding than their first marriages. In fact, remarriage enhanced the quality of life for each informant. Their second husbands filled a void in their lives. In addition to lessening the loneliness and other burdens associated with early widowhood and providing muchneeded emotional and financial support, remarriage provided a second chance for happiness and achievement of other personal goals. Each woman mentioned that that remarriage afforded her opportunities for travel and the pursuits. Finally, all three informants closely connected the losses of both their first and second husbands to their overall narratives of suffering, past and present. Mrs. A., who had been widowed the greatest number of years, still struggled to make sense of the senseless deaths of her husbands. Although she indicated that losing her second husband was less difficult that losing the first, the emotion in her voice as she described both deaths suggests that both were hard. Her memories of past suffering centered on these losses, and the associated increase in responsibilities and overall lack of resources and support that added to her grief. She denied any present suffering, as if current worries about declining health paled in comparison to memories of the suffering she experienced from “off-time” widowhood earlier in life. When asked about suffering, Mrs. B. spoke of both physical pain and her first husband's death, but quickly changed the subject since unpleasantness had no place in the story she

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told. She clung to memories of an idyllic life and shared a version of life as it should have been, although not exactly as it was. The structure of her narrative seemed superficial and she spoke little of past suffering, as if certain memories are better off left in the past. Instead, she dwelled on present suffering, which was tied to the identity issues that surrounded her perceived displacement from the role of family matriarch. In the case of Mrs. C., marital losses featured prominently in the litany of suffering she recited, and suffering was intimately tied to the power of memory and her overall sense of loss. Unlike the other informants, she acknowledged her suffering and carried it constantly with her. She recounted multiple events as “worst times,” and much of her past and present suffering was founded on feelings of guilt. Consequently, she suffered largely in silence and her pain remained hidden. In a sense, suffering became part of who she was. The “happy widow” persona was for appearances only. Each of the informants alternately described suffering as something they needed to act upon and “get through” and something they needed to “get over” or ignore. Suffering's illogical and paradoxical nature may in part account for why it is so difficult to incorporate suffering into a logical and coherent narrative. It may also explain why regaining control can be difficult following a period of suffering or loss. Conclusion Despite increasing longevity and the length-of-life differential between men and women that lead to a greater possibility of widowhood, serial widowhood has not been considered in all its dimensions. For example, there is no term to describe a second widowhood and distinguish it from the first. One is either married or widowed, an either-or state that fails to take into account an individual's history. Loss, particularly spousal loss, clearly causes suffering. Loss, too, challenges a sense of who one is and thereby acts to undermine identity. Women who are widowed often lose more than a partner and significant other; they often lose a significant portion of their identity (Lopata, 1996). van den Hoonaard's (1997) analysis of published autobiographies identified loss of identity as a salient theme in early widowhood. She found that when identity is stripped away, one is forced to see a different self. This suggests rawness in the recovery period, and a profound need to look inward, review one's life, and ask, “Where do I go from here?” This can be particularly painful at midlife, especially when the spouse's death was unexpected. As this article previously noted, traumatic events, such as the premature death of a spouse, can disrupt the narrative and result in an “undoing” of the self (Brison, 1998). “Recovery” may entail defusing the traumatic memory, an act which can be achieved by repeatedly narrating it. “Recovering” one's identity often means constructing a new one; it is widely accepted that identity is constructed by and through the stories we tell ourselves and others about our lives (Bruner, 1985; McAdams, 1993). Talking about one's past not only informs others who one is, but explains how she came to be. In telling one's story, the narrator may also uncover new realities about herself. Transforming one's identity following “off-time” widowhood entails cultivating a new life story that incorporates the senseless trauma of early widowhood. Young widows are

called upon to reinvent themselves, a task which requires the telling and retelling of one's story until a sense of consistency is achieved. However, American society, which encourages young widows to ‘get over it’ and ‘move on,’ presumably provides young widows few outlets to express grief and rehearse their narratives. Memories are among our most personal possessions and can be difficult to share. Although details of events tend to fade over time, trauma memories do not necessarily diminish. The emotional intensity of unexpected widowhood may render the experience impossible to “unremember.” Mastering a major threat to the self — transforming what was previously both unimaginable and unspeakable — may be aided by repeated retellings (Brison, 1998). However, if no one wants to hear it, the silence and secrecy surrounding one's past may become habitual. Widowhood is universally viewed as undesirable, and widows are rarely described in positive terms (Chambers, 2005). In the present analysis, each informant disclosed her twice widowed status early on, but none of the women directly identified herself as a widow. Ultimately, each of the informants rejected the highly stigmatized “widowed” identity. Mrs. A., the longest widowed of all of the women, described herself as twice married and never uttered the term “widow” at all. Mrs. B. described herself as formerly widowed, following the death of her first husband only, when she pointed out “I was a widow for 6 years.” Mrs. C. briefly identified herself as a widow (and a happy, well-adjusted one, at that), only in the presence of her adult grandson. Her presentation was for his benefit; she adopted the identity he expected to see. While the process of becoming and being widowed is unique for each woman, the process of regaining control over life following the trauma of early widowhood may be similar. Each informant in this analysis suggested she had no choice but to “get through” the ordeal following her first husband's death. All had dependent children and spoke of crying privately. The women believed they must be strong in order to maintain a sense of normalcy for their children. Each intuitively sensed that giving in (e.g., to emotion) meant falling apart and perhaps feared it would be difficult to regain control. This process prompted an identity transformation; not one of the women remained the same woman she was before her traumatic loss. In her own way, each informant endured the circumstances she was dealt and emerged a less vulnerable person.

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