Widow's Voice

I Get By

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An Open Letter to Friends and Family:

So, dear friends and family, today is July 8, 2021, and I have made it through Year One relatively intact. I say it is relative because, as you well know, the seismic shift to my world that occurred when Lee died still reverberates. My world now is altered, perhaps irrevocably. And maybe you have noticed that I do not smile quite as much as I used to when she was here, or laugh quite as easily, or as heartily. Yet, today I can report that I am getting by as best I can with what I have left to work with, with one important qualifier. I get by today in large part because of you, my friends and family.

I am forever grateful you were there for me last June when your love and support for Lee helped her vanquish the pain and eased her passing. And I am forever grateful you were there on the evening of July 2, 2020, when the terrible sudden reality that she was gone could have become an unbearable weight for me, except for the fact that you stepped in to help me bear it.

I am forever grateful you were with me through the darkest months last summer, when even the most routine or humdrum activity contained taunting reminders of my former happiness, which in my hubris, I foolishly always had taken for granted. Without warning, I would be reduced to heaving tears, angrily pounding a wall with my fists, or making anguished cries, trying to shout away the deep ache inside my chest.

And I am forever grateful you were there for me when the seasons changed, the days got shorter, and my lonely nights grew colder, threatening to make life even sadder than it had been up to this point.

I am forever grateful you were there for me during the unprecedented pandemic when a nationwide imperative to isolate took away whatever excuse I might have needed to venture downtown to the office, to shop, to have a meal out of the house, or to travel, removing every conceivable temporary escape from the one place where the daily fact of life remained that she was gone.

And I am forever grateful that when I rediscovered the urge to find intimacy, you did not scold me, or wag that it is still too soon, or make judgments about what was best for me, but instead gave me my head with the assurance that Lee hoped I would find happiness in my life without her.

I am forever grateful that you were there during the past month to help me celebrate my wedding anniversary, but with a watchful eye lest what ought to be a cause of joyful celebration devolve into a pity party for “poor me.” And I am forever grateful you celebrated my milestone birthday with me later the same month, and for one night at least I was the center of attention and not embarrassed to bask in your heartfelt love and affection.

I am forever grateful for your true concern for how I might react on the first anniversary of Lee’s death, and for your suggestions to help me navigate what could have been a fraught evening, alone in the home where she died. I am pleased to report to you, however, that it was not nearly as discomfiting as we all had feared. The truth is I did not feel a need to shed tears, having shed so many to reach that point.


I have gotten by with more than a little help from my friends and family. I will not bother to name any names here. You all know who you are. Thank you. I am a lucky man.

About Gary Ravitz

In relevant part, my musings are for me. It’s one of the ways in which I process losing my sweetest. Of course, Lee didn’t want to die. She had fought like hell, but the relentless cancers kept coming: Skin cancers; breast cancer; head and neck cancer; colon cancer; and finally, the deadly pancreatic cancer. In June 2020, and only after being pressed hard by Lee, her oncologist opined that my wife had from two weeks to two months left to live, turned on her heels and nearly sprinted from the hospital room, never again to be seen or heard from by us. I promptly removed Lee from the hospital and brought her home. It was the right thing to do and I only wish I had acted sooner over “the best” medical advice to the contrary. In fact, my sweet wife only had nine days left to live. At the final, she embraced her own death with great courage and unfailing kindness. It was a truly remarkable display of grace and wondrous to behold. It was my great privilege and honor to be with her every step of the way. And now, it’s my privilege to be able to write a few words to you each week. In a nutshell, I believe every journey is unique, but, hopefully, to know that you do not have to walk it alone can also be reassuring. And, along the way, you might hear a bit more information about me.
Gary