Widow's Voice

A gratitude post for those early days of grief.

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A fellow widow and amazing writer (check out her newsletter!) inspired me this week to think and write about the ways I was supported in my early days of grief. I am definitely not a person who believes in forcing positivity or gratefulness in order to solve your problems, however, I think that a reflection on the support that I have received from loved ones in the worst days of my life can be healing. So here it is…my ‘thank you’s for those who held me in those early grief days. I know I am forgetting something or someone, so please know there was more…

To my mom, who slept in my bed next to me for months (I honestly don’t even remember how long it was), thank you. Thank you for making sure I was not alone. I know you were grieving so deeply too. Yet you were there. And my sister for all of the logistics, and behind-the-scenes work you did, even things I probably don’t remember or know about. I know you were taking care of me. Like you always have and always will. 

To my dear friend who was on my doorstep early the next morning, maybe a couple of hours after I called to tell you the news. And then you graciously and calmly stayed by my side for the hardest days. And usually, it involved ice cream…lots of ice cream. I know you lost a friend, too. But you were there to hold me in my darkest days. 

To my friend who was there for the hardest, darkest conversations. The person who went with me to pick up his ashes. Who never seemed uncomfortable in the trauma of it all. We grew so close during the worst time of my life…

The people who drove 4 hours to be there, for me and for Boris’s memorial service. Thank you. My childhood friend who lovingly did my hair and slept next to me the night before the service. Thank you.

To friends and community who were grieving their friend too…the phone calls, the showing up, the hugs. Thank you.

To my friend who went for many evening walks with me, just chatting about life. Keeping my body moving when sitting still felt impossible. 

The friend who took me to dinner almost weekly, and to get our nails done…anything to keep me busy because I know you knew that is what I needed. You knew. 

The close family friends and loved ones who fed me, kept me company, and showed up for me, my family, and Boris’s family. Your presence meant so much. 

To those who gave me space, or accommodated me, and did things that I wasn’t even aware of so that I had the opportunity to grieve. Those who picked up my slack at work and other obligations. Thank you.

The ones who sent cards, books, care packages, flowers, text messages…thank you for every single one. 

And the ones who I didn’t mention…thank you. I survived because of the people who were there in those early days, holding space, being present, and somehow helping me survive the worst pain.

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.