Remember the days when we needed permission to do just about anything, first, from parents, and then from others? Permission was doled out according to some kind of mysterious and unwritten system. It seems to me that we never outgrow the need to please those closest to us. This need can surface in many different ways. In my experience, bereaved people often seek permission for something without even realizing that that is what they are doing.

One night, I noticed a social group newcomer sitting by herself. The founding members of the group are always careful to make sure that newcomers are made welcome and, if possible, included in the group’s activities. I took my cup of coffee over to where she was sitting, introduced myself, and soon we were chatting away like old friends. I learned that her husband had died in the care of Hospice a short time ago. She and her husband were very grateful for the care that they both received. I then suggested that she now had the job of telling others in the community about her experience.

After a short pause, she asked me if she could tell me a story. She also wanted me to explain its meaning to her. I told her that I was good at listening but sometimes explaining is another matter.

My husband died far too young. He was a beautiful man in the true sense of the word. Our marriage was truly one of those that
seem to have been made in heaven. We did not have any children and now, of course, I have never felt so alone in my life. I thank God that I was able to care for him at home with the help of Hospice’ Palliative Response Team. One night when I came into the bedroom, I noticed that his wedding ring was on the bedside table. I was puzzled because to my knowledge he had never taken off his ring since we were married. I knew that he was close to death and unable to speak; however, he could hear perfectly, and I knew that he enjoyed my ramblings. I waited until he had awakened and then asked why he had taken off his ring. With what little strength he had left he held my left hand and touched my rings. I held out his ring and tried to put it back on his finger. He became quite agitated and held my hand even tighter. It finally dawned on me that he wanted me to keep his ring. I put the ring back on the bedside table, and he relaxed and went back to sleep. My dear husband died a few days later, very quietly.

I have been wondering for some time why he took off his ring and didn’t want me to put it back on his finger. My husband was a kind and thoughtful man, and I don’t believe he did that to hurt me. However, there has to be an explanation, and if you have any ideas, please let us talk about it.

I sat there for some time thinking that this man must have had a good reason for doing what he did. It must have been an action that was meaningful to both of them, but what was it? I then thought of my wife, Collette. She had a difficult time expressing her feelings throughout our life together. She let me know how she felt about something by talking around the subject. It was some time after our marriage before I learned to accept her way of expressing her love for me. I suppose that most couples develop their own way of communicating.

Then I finally understood what had happened. This much-loved man wanted to give his wife a message. He couldn’t talk, so he had to do the only thing he could do; he took off his ring and set it aside.

I am under no illusion that I know for certain what is in the mind, much less the heart, of another. In our culture, the sharing of marriage rings is a visible sign of the commitment that we share with our loved ones. Sometimes the rings are forgotten or even discarded, and if that is so it usually means the end of the relationship. It is possible that this man was telling his wife that at his death he was giving her his blessing and her freedom. He did the only thing he was capable of doing. That was to take off his ring as a message.

Do I know this for certain? Of course not, but I have heard many stories of how permission to love again is given, and I like to believe that this was one of those times.

We sat there surrounded by people playing cards of one sort or another. I am always amazed that perfect strangers can share such meaningful events in their lives. Sometimes, silence is the only thing that matters. However, after a time, we talked about my interpretation of the woman’s story, and as it turned out, we agreed about the message.

That night I went home and thought about the messages that Collette had given me. I have spoken about the time she wondered how her new life was going to be. Another time she told me she didn’t mind dying because she couldn’t live in her body the way it was. I also remembered how she took full responsibility for her illness after a lifetime of smoking. Were these just remarks, or were they messages to help me after she died? I know that Collette was not one to talk idly. The things that she did say were messages. I remember them.

After I wrote this piece, I gave it to Claire for her comments. She said, “You know, that is exactly what John did for me. He reminded me that I was a comparatively young woman, and he hoped that I would find someone to love with whom to enjoy a good life.”

If you listen carefully to bereaved friends, you will hear similar stories. It took me some time before I recognized the fact that people need permission to bring back some level of normalcy into their lives. I use the word normalcy advisedly in the context of reclaiming a measure of joy in living.

However, we don’t wake up one morning and feel that we have been given permission to do this or that. It is more of a subtle understanding that life is good, there is much beauty in our lives, there is music, there are friends who have done so much for us in ways that even they do not understand, and there are new possibilities to explore.

Many of my friends gave me permission, too, but it took me a long time to understand just how they did so without either of us knowing what was afoot.