Jill Poulsen: Is it possible to move on when the love of your life dies?

People talk a lot about the importance of moving on after going through hard times, but when Maryanne lost Paul to leukaemia giving that kind of advice felt ridiculous, writes Jill Poulsen.

When Maryanne met the new chef at the restaurant she managed, it was his curly red hair she noticed first.

Then the thick Northern Irish accent, beaming smile and finally, the wedding ring. She felt a tiny pang of disappointment spotting his golden wedding band – she was not long separated. That was soon forgotten, as years of friendship followed, punctuated by hours long conversations and endless laughing.

When Paul also found himself divorced those close to them will tell you: the transition from friends to something more was inevitable.

Eleven years later, in 2012, they married in the town hall of a little place called Portrush in Northern Ireland. It was Paul’s favourite spot to holiday as a child and Maryanne wore a dress in a flush of her favourite colour, purple.

I’d like to tell you that they lived happily ever after but unfortunately this isn’t that kind of love story.

At 51 Paul died following a short battle with Leukaemia. At 45, a broken Maryanne followed her love’s coffin as it left the crematorium, held up by a close friend just so she could walk. Billy Connolly’s version of Irish Heartbeat played for Paul and as the chorus rang out – “Oh won’t you stay, stay a while with your own ones” – the anguish on her face was so raw scores of mourners had to look away.

Their close-knit group of family and friends made sure somebody was at Paul’s bedside for every minute of every day so he’d never be alone at “the end”. In the months that followed those same people kept showing up to make sure Maryanne was never alone in her crushing grief.

People who are grieving often report feelings of crushing loneliness. Picture: iStock

But that’s exactly what she felt. Alone. Locked inside an emotional panic room nobody could get in.

Aching loneliness is one of the most overwhelming emotions we feel after losing someone we love.

In Australia a person dies every three minutes and 17 seconds. From a young age we know that at times in our lives we will be faced with the death of a loved one. We hope that if we do, those we lose have lived a full life – a grandparent who has made it to their 90s. But we are totally unprepared for the sudden death of a husband, who still has so much life ahead of them 

When I welcomed in the New Year recently with my friend Maryanne she described the feeling of isolation that comes with losing your partner.

“When I say I’m lonely, I’m not lonely for people, I’m lonely for him,” she tells me.

“He wasn’t perfect and our marriage wasn’t perfect, but he was my anchor. I’m looking for that feeling everywhere else and I just can’t find it. I’m looking to everyone else for that and they just can’t give it. Because there’s nobody, and probably never will be another person like Paul.”

It’s hard to know what to say, my experience in dealing with those close to me losing a partner is limited. I avoid the cliches of: “You’ll find love again”, “you’re not alone” or “things will get easier” because extensive Googling has taught me this is not what a widowed person wants to hear.

At the funeral, the anguish on Maryanne’s face was so raw scores of mourners had to look away. Picture: iStock

So I say nothing. Because even if those throwaway lines of encouragement might have all been true, she wasn’t asking me to make her feel better, she just wanted to be heard.

It’s been 18 months since Paul died and the dark cloud enveloping their once happy home has shifted, a little. Its trademark sound of laughter continues as Maryanne focuses on the things that continue to give her life meaning.

Every day she works hard in the catering business the pair started together because she wants to honour the life they had planned. The business’ productivity is expected to go through the roof this year, so she’ll be busy. She tells me she spends less and less time crying in the cold room.

A bucket list holiday this month to New Zealand with her besties – complete with street luge and one too many winery visits – was the perfect inspiration to start planning more holidays this year.

Her constant companion Lucy, the staffordshire terrier, shown no signs of needing any less affection this year, and with the ongoing demands of other significant relationships in her life the concept of time gets back to a more even pace.

The world around her keeps going, along with the lives of the people in it. On the good days she finds it entertaining and distracting, and on the bad it feels almost offensive. Sometimes staying at home on the couch watching Criminal Minds is the best option and she’s learnt not to feel so guilty about taking it.

People talk a lot about the importance of “moving on” with their life after going through hard times but in this instance “moving through” is a better way to describe the healing.

I don’t know if Maryanne will ever have another love story, she may not want to. Either way it’s her decision and seems pretty unimportant right now, we tend not to define people by their marital status as much these days.

What gives her comfort is knowing she’ll live the rest of her life grateful for the love story she had, even if it ended a few chapters too soon.