WHY NEW CHAPTERS?
New Chapters is about the experience of losing a spouse; the unanticipated situations and moments that accompany this particular life event. Of course, all loss of life is difficult but this project is rooted in my own heartache – the passing of my husband, Barry Brady, after our 37 years together.
So absorbed in my own mourning that when I posted a vague announcement about this project I was flabbergasted by the immediate and overwhelming response. Unknowingly, I touched a nerve. Friends – both from my real life and my social media network – reacted quickly, emotionally and supportively. As a result, the momentum of this website was jump-started. It is with big enthusiasm, bigger trepidation and a forever broken heart that I launch New Chapters.
During the years that I cared for Brady (I’ve always called him by his last name) and after his passing, it seemed like an unusual number of friends and acquaintances lost their spouses too. Everyone’s circumstances were different yet sadly familiar. Each of us had been drafted into the uncomfortable community of grief, profound sorrow and trying to figure out was to come next.
While some say that our society doesn’t discuss grief, I have found the opposite. After the global loss of life during the COVID-19 pandemic, it was clear that grief is a universal experience and one that people do want to talk about. Based on the stacks of pamphlets, books and resources that were sent to me by caring friends, it was also clear that much has been written about it. In spite of all the information I received, nothing really clicked. I needed something more tangible; specifics about what to expect and how to take that next step without Brady by my side. The Deputy (how I referred to him on social media) was a law enforcement officer so over the years, we had plenty of conversations about what to do if the unthinkable happened to him on the job. Thankfully, he was able to enjoy a long and happy retirement before he passed. Still, many things happened that I didn’t see coming, much of which was just awful, painful, and totally confusing. But there have also been heartwarming, comforting and humorous moments as well. Perhaps most unsettling was not understanding what is normal in terms of how I am feeling at any given moment.
This site is about all of that and what others have experienced and learned so we can all be better informed and prepared. New Chapters is literally a work in progress and intended to be a welcoming forum for anyone in the same situation and searching for a nugget or more of information, perspective or a touch of inspiration. My hope, too, is that it proves helpful when you just don’t know what you need. Most especially, my intent is that visitors find strength.
Returning to my experience as a journalist, I spent the last year capturing love stories of people I know as well as strangers who wanted to share their experience. I asked questions with diplomacy, curiosity and compassion. I admit that I didn’t realize that I was all over the place in the beginning. I put the project on hold and came close to nixing it a time or two. But because the people I’ve talked with have shared their stories with remarkable candor, love, anger, sorrow and even some humor, I was able to reimagine, refocus, and, frankly get more confident about actually doing this. So here we are.
This site’s purpose is to function as a destination for comfort, camaraderie, connection, soul lifting, laughs, joy and, yes, hope. I know it is helpful to talk about grief. This is also to be a place that celebrates the resiliency of the human spirit and of course — big and good love.
New Chapters is a love letter to Brady; he was a helper and would appreciate this effort. Hopefully, this site will become a destination for comfort, connection, soul-lifting and a place for hope and well, new chapters.
THIS WAS US
THANK YOU TO ORLANDO HEALTH
Four years ago, my husband and I were drafted into an unanticipated and excruciating battle for his life. We did not win. Now July 31 stands as a dreaded anniversary that forever marks the end of Brady’s magnificent and joyful life and our near 40 years together.
After Brady’s passing, I became afflicted with a condition that affects surviving spouses. It’s called Widow Fog. You don’t know you’re in it and it takes time to clear. Today, I’m noticeably less murky as I continue to find my footing and follow this new chapter. My increased clarity helped to identify a new priority. It occurred to me that I have never publicly thanked the healthcare professionals and staff at Orlando Health for their remarkable heroism and professionalism throughout our horrific battle for Brady’s life, a nightmare that began at another hospital.
It has taken me this long to collect my thoughts and express my gratitude to the team members at Orlando Health from administrators and physicians to the custodial workers -- all of whom showed the very best of human kindness to me every terrible day.
The Management –For educating me during my most desperate moments at the first hospital that I could l move my husband from one institution to another. I did so to save his life.
The Rapid Response Team – For swiftly and calmly swarming Brady’s hospital room right after he was admitted and responding to and treating him several unidentifiable pulmonary episodes that were terrifying. I thank them also for having the brilliance to immediately tell me, “He’s not having a heart attack. We’ve got this.” And they did.
The Valet Staff – For greeting me with compassion and hope in my numerous arrivals and departures at the entrance for nearly a month. Virtually every attendant inquired regularly about Brady’s progress and offered personal prayers for his recovery and for me as well.
The Physicians – For taking time to tell me in horrifying detail, the facts of Brady’s dire condition and providing a framework of understanding as well as a minuscule glimmer of hope that the madness would subside. Before the transfer, no one told me anything. Nothing.
The Front Desk Receptionists – For smiling, engaging and focusing every day making sure that I knew where to find Brady at that moment. Because of his precarious health status, he was repeatedly moved back and forth between the Critical Care Unit and the Rehabilitation Floor. Their optimistic tones and unwavering encouragement to stay strong and to take care of myself were welcome and appreciated.
The Subway Shop Cashier – For the lovely young woman who apparently watched me struggle over the decision to buy a small bag of Sun Chips. In moments of ultimate exhaustion and heartbreak, even the simplest tasks feel monumental. She refused to let me pay. “Take them, no charge,” she said as I offered cash. Clearly it was not her first time playing lifeguard to a customer swimming in the depths of despair.
The Rehab Floor Managing Physician – For this doctor’s spontaneous visits just to say hi or to give me a cafeteria coupon for a fresh cookie and especially for letting me “sneak” our toy poodle, Margaret, in to visit Brady on his last day of life. Sometimes the seemingly smallest of gestures are actually the kindest acts of all. My gratitude runs especially deep for her grace in allowing Brady to pass peacefully in the quiet of the rehab floor rather than in a hospital-hospice environment. Surely, she must have known that his remaining hours of life were few and made a command decision to ignore protocols in order to gift us precious, undisrupted time together.
The Nurses and Specialists – For the bravery and tenacity of nurses and respiratory therapists who cleared Brady’s lungs and tried to keep him comfortable as the torture and power of pneumonia suffocated his ability to walk, talk or breathe without machines. Witnessing their abilities to calm a patient’s fears left me awestruck.
I EXTEND MY DEEP GRATITUDE TO:
The Critical Care Nurses – The young nurse who was quick enough to catch Brady’s leg as he tried to kick the young man in the head. And for his amusing response after I quickly apologized and defended Brady, “He’s actually a really nice man; he would never hurt anyone, ever.” Still wrestling with my very sick and agitated husband, the nurse looked at me, controlled a grimace and said, “No worries.”
The Specialized Therapists – For preserving Brady’s dignity by helping this very tough, streetwise fella from Newark, New Jersey push himself up from a chair to a standing position for the last time. I offer a special thank you to the extraordinary physical therapist who wrapped her arm around Brady and helped him stand from his bed. Holding him up, she led him in a gentle moment of rocking in tandem, side to side as they shared a sunny view of downtown Orlando. The image of them together still brings tears to my eyes.
The Traveling Nurse – For the humanity of the petite, visiting nurse who looked more like she’d prefer to be riding a Harley, than preparing an end-of-life pharmaceutical cocktail. Dressed in a gray sweatshirt boasting a skull and crossbones design, she suddenly stopped, put her syringes down, turned and looked me in the eye. “We will keep him comfortable and take good care of him and you. We will get you through this,” and then hugged me with the strength of a giant.
The Rehab Nightshift Nurses – For this thoughtful and hyper-attentive team for continuing to check on us throughout the darkest night of my life. I offer a special dose of gratitude to the nurse whom I suggested might have drawn the short straw having been assigned to our situation. She had been watching Brady closely and after my comment, looked up at me with a puzzled expression and whispered, “I was a hospice nurse for seven years. I know exactly what to do. We will take good care of you both.” And thank you to the other nurses who allowed me time to sit privately with Brady after he passed and who retrieved his wedding ring which I had forgotten in my daze of disbelief. Please know that I wear his ring around my neck always and think of you often.
The Security Officer – For making me feel safe after explaining that he couldn’t escort me to my car and leave his post at the hospital entrance unattended. But he promised to watch me I as I walked out, carrying Brady’s belongings and the pieces of my shattered heart. He pointed to the garage and said, “Your car is right there; I moved it for you. See it? I can see you and I will watch you. You will be safe.”
I am grateful to you all!
THE STORIES
Welcome to the true love stories of men and women who have generously shared their experiences with loss of a spouse/partner. Love and grief are the great equalizers for us all. No one escapes. The circumstances of those you’ll read about are compelling, and their stories of how they took their own next steps are poignant, difficult, uplifting and sometimes even amusing. Each story contains helpful takeaways for others going through the experience of grief. These stories have been written with the greatest respect for those who are no longer with us and for those who loved them.
Rasheed Wiggins was a man in love. After seven years into his relationship with Kimberly Holmes, he decided to make up for lost time and ask Kimberly to marry him.
They had known each other casually as students at Duke University but went their separate ways after graduation. Kimberly chased a career in television news while Rasheed pursued a business executive path and entrepreneurship. Both were driven.