Addressing the elephant in the room

Crying is a release and addressing the elephant in the room is freeing.

So here I go.

Sunday, I attended a grief share group for those who have lost a loved one. It's a 12-week program and just what my heart desired after the loss of my husband, Jacques. I felt the call to attend as soon as I learned about it.

It felt like a welcoming, loving and safe environment.

The attendees were welcomed into the group setting and handed a name tag with our names and our loved one's name right below. I choked up when I spotted my name tag because seeing my husband's name recognized meant so much. It's almost like it keeps him alive, in a sense. It was one of those left-field emotions that you don't expect. Yet, I tried my best to hold it together, and I did for a while until the sharing began.

We sat in a circle, and before the group leader asked us to introduce ourselves, I could already feel a bond with these beautiful strangers without knowing any of the attendees except one friend who attended.

As we glazed around the room, I could feel each person, and knowing they also felt me was comforting. Soon after we settled, the group leader asked that we go around the room and introduce ourselves. To say our name and the name of our loved one who passed. Almost everyone shared about their spouse and a little about their death. I was at the end of the circle listening to each person's share, touched and heartbroken while simultaneously having a sense of each person's pain.

They all loved their husbands deeply as I did and still do. I can't imagine that love ever fading. With tears rolling down my face, I was also ready to share about my Jacques. Yes, an opportunity to talk about him and let everyone know how awesome he was while he walked the earth.

Surprisingly, a big wave of emotions came through like an ambush, and I could barely muster up to say my name. I had not cried in weeks and indeed made up for it at that moment. The leader kindly asked if I wanted to skip, and "I said no. I haven't cried like this in weeks." I want to talk." After I caught my breath, I could finally speak and express my love for Jacques; saying his name felt so good, yet emotional. I remember saying Jacques is awesome! Then I proceeded to say that some of you lost your husband to cancer, and my husband had depression, an illness that you can't visually see—a stigma with so much shame attached to it. I could feel everyone's hearts beating, waiting for what would come next.

I felt so much compassion and understanding from everyone in the room, holding me with love. And felt very compelled to share how he passed, addressing the elephant in the room. It was the first time in a group setting that I shared details of his passing. The best way to describe how I felt afterward is a relief and release—a cleansing of what wanted to come out, what needed to come out.

I watched him fight hard for many years to be okay, to be happy, even in his final days. He loved his family, he loved me, and he had a love for people in general. Yet, he didn't always love himself; it got the best of him numerous times. He's not alone, either. So many people struggle with self-love and self-worth. For some, it's on a deeper level, and depression takes over.

Ultimately, he had a few great years in recent years before he relapsed and took his life. Suicide is never the answer, and I pray we have ZERO suicides one day. I want everyone to hang on. I wish he would have. Yet we won't get there until we start understanding mental health with a compassionate heart. So many people feel shame, and that's why so many suffer in silence. It takes courage to speak out. Yet, the more we speak out, we make it easier for others to do the same. The circle shouldn't become smaller when going through something, yet it often does. So many of his friends reached out afterward with broken hearts wishing he would have, and I hoped he would have too.

People wear the "mask of happiness," or the "mask of everything is okay" to cover up their pain. They often don't want to be a burden to others or don't want to be perceived as weak when inside, they are hurting.

Jacques had a tender heart yet was strong in spirit. He was sensitive, yet not weak.

He was kind and gentle. He was my king.

Now he's, my Angel.

If you are going through something, please reach out. You're not alone.

I love you.

Francine xo

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