I was one of the founding members of the Bereavement Self-Help Social Group. At the first meeting, I was a little taken aback at the imbalance of women to men. However, after thinking about that reality, I realized that this situation was quite normal. Women tend to marry men who are a bit older, and women tend to live longer.

The longer one lives, the fewer long-term friends one has. Some people find that making new friends is very difficult. I read somewhere that after you turn thirty-three, something happens to the music. This is another way, I suppose, of saying that everything familiar changes. Having friends that are younger than you are is very helpful to understanding that, indeed, not only has the music changed, so has everything else in your life.

Sometimes, bereaved friends get stuck in the past and find it difficult to see any future in their lives. When I hear people remark that life is no longer worth living, I usually ask them how much longer they expect to live. Most people will respond by expressing an optimistic number of years followed by a thoughtful silence. It would be foolish to expect bereaved people to make plans for the rest of their lives, but I see nothing wrong in pointing out, gently of course, that some thought should be given to the future.

In my case, becoming a single person after forty-five years of happy marriage was a shock. The fact that we both had lots of advance knowledge of Collette’s illness did nothing to lessen the overwhelming sense of loss that I experienced. Unless you have lived through this reality, you have no idea what the death of your loved one will mean to you. The knowledge that your companion has gone and that you are facing years of loneliness is sudden and frightening. It was a very difficult time for me. I experienced great trauma facing the prospect of what I feared would be a very long and lonely life.

We all experience pivotal events that change our lives. Joining the Bereavement Self-Help Social Group at Victoria Hospice was such an event for me. It didn’t take long for me to understand that the human condition is a social one and that I was very much a part of that condition.

Collette understood that we all need social contact. She explained this need to me with her characteristic brand of patience. One of her bridge-playing friends had died, leaving her bridge group one player short. I barely qualified to play at their level, but I had little choice.

I played with these sharks, and let me tell you, I took my lumps. As we were driving home after one painfully long, miserable, and disastrous evening, I suggested to Collette that she and her friends might be happier if they found another woman player. First, there was a pregnant pause; then I was the recipient of the kind of condescending look that only a loving wife can muster.

“Look, dum-dum.” This was Collette’s favorite annoyed expression, “I don’t want you to play just to make up a table but because these two dear friends of mine don’t hear a man’s voice from one week to another. You are a man, a poor bridge player to boot, but you are a man.”
I had both the good sense and the years of experience to answer, compliantly, “Yes dear.”

Collette was right. Women need to hear a man’s voice, if only occasionally, just as men need to hear a woman’s voice. Collette had a way of giving me messages in a round-about way.

At the first meeting of the Bereavement Self-Help Social Group, there was much discussion about the activities that folks wanted. We put sign-up pages on the wall, and we all took turns making our preferences. I signed up with the bridge group.

I have to tell you that Collette was an excellent player, and I am sure that the quality my game was one of the little disappointments of her life. You may find this difficult to believe, but Collette used to waken me during the night to explain, carefully, how I should have played a hand. As an understanding husband, I had the good sense to take these nocturnal bridge lessons in stride, but it was a bit much when her father also gave me long lectures on the subject. Come to think of it, maybe it was a family plot!

When I signed up for the bridge group, I thought that it was my chance to play with people at the same level. As it turns out, that assumption was only half-true, but at least I was able to hold my own.

Soon, I was enjoying playing with new friends and looking forward to weekly games and meeting even more new friends. I don’t know when it dawned on me that I really enjoyed the friendship of my new women friends. It was quite a different social situation for someone who had been married for a long time. I was free to enjoy a lunch, movie, or jazz without expecting anything out of the event but friendship. The interesting thing was that I could always find a woman who enjoyed the same things that I liked. I have bridge friends, lunch friends, jazz friends, and walking friends. I owe so much to these wonderful women, and I love every last one of them.
One of the pleasures of my life is to see how bereaved men are able to enjoy true friendships with different women. It is amazing how just a little encouragement or even a kind of permission such as I received from Collette can make life a bit more interesting.

I know I am speaking about men and from a man’s experience, but I also know many women who have discovered the joy of good friendships with different men.
However, about four and a half years after Collette died, I met Claire at the skating rink in Oak Bay. We found that we had much in common. Both of our loved ones died in the care of Hospice. Claire became a member of the Bereavement Self- Help Social Group, and now we have a large number of mutual friends. We have had a few chuckles over my women friends phoning Claire, after our marriage, to ask if I could still play bridge with them or have lunch now and then. Of course, I still do these things.

I should mention the fact that Claire flatly refuses to play bridge. In fact, that stipulation is embedded in our marriage agreement. So much for being awakened in the middle of the night to discuss a bridge hand!

I have a wonderful life. I have Claire, my volunteer work at Victoria Hospice which is shared with Claire, the Bereavement Self-Help Social Group, my wonderful family who love Claire, and my many special friends.

Sometimes, when I am counting my blessings, I wonder what my life would have been like if I had not responded to the offers of friendship from bereaved friends at that first meeting of the Bereavement Self-Help Social Group. We all need to love and to be loved, and we all need to be able to give and to accept friendship.