One of the most common remarks I get often as a woman who recently lost her husband is:
“You’re so strong.”
Everyone who I know and don’t even know is curious to know how I’m doing. The most common response is how I’m so strong. My strength has been compared to rocks and what not.
Ask the ones who’re the closest to me, and you’ll get the right answer.
“Tina is shattered.”
I’m not saying it’s wrong to comment on someone who’s just lost her husband as being strong. But more often than not, she’s not strong at all.
I’ve openly said my strength comes from the Lord. If it were not for my complete surrender to Him, I really do not know how I would have coped.
What I went through at the start of the year can make for a block-buster movie script with all the elements of great tragedy and humanity. Everything was going topsy-turvy for me. So, when people around me were calling me strong and telling my story to people I didn’t even know as an example, it felt alien.
I didn’t feel strong at all. And that was okay. I just wanted to be allowed to be human.
I Just Needed to Fall Apart
I was surrounded by a lot of men, including my sibling when I was in Boston, by Ryan’s bedside. I was thankful for the few women who visited the hospital and kept me company. Yet they were people I was just getting to know.
When my best friend landed from Texas, the very first thing I did was run into her arms, hug her tight, and break into sobs uncontrollably. It was what I was yearning to do all this time. But I was holding on. I’m not complaining as each and everyone who was by my side, filled a missing gap in that situation. Some offered a patient ear, some helped with the practicalities, some with the food, and more.
Had Ryan been there, I would have hugged him for the longest time and just be myself. My human self. And he saw through my strength and into the softest side of me. It’s not wrong to say he knew me more than I knew myself.
While there were many onlookers including our family, friends, and well-wishers in the hospital lobby, I hugged my best friend and we both sobbed uncontrollably for long, ignorant of the onlookers. I was so thankful she flew down immediately after I called her.
It was just what I needed so badly. I don’t remember feeling the need again to hug someone so badly and cry my heart out. It has sustained for so long.
But if I ever need to do it again for my soul’s well-being, I will go ahead and do it at the risk of being judged as “weak”.
The Pressure to Be Strong
Yes, I’m strong. I know that. But, I don’t want my entire personality to be rounded off to strength.
I’m also meek. I’m vulnerable. I’m human.
I remember when I had informed my daughter that daddy was not going to make it past this week and if she’d like to fly down, and she had said yes, I was teary-eyed. A well-wisher saw me, and immediately commented, “How can you cry now? You’ve been so strong all this while. You can’t afford to be weak now. How will your daughter cope?”
I didn’t respond.
Those who know me well know that when I don’t like something someone has said or done, I either remain quiet or walk away…sometimes for good. I don’t argue or reason with people of a different wave length. Those who’re close to me are of my wave-length.
I know the man’s intention was good. But I didn’t want to offer him an alternative point of view.
I didn’t want my daughter to control or hide her tears. I wanted her to be her natural self. There is nothing unnatural about crying for your loved one.
It is absolutely fine for us to grieve and mourn for Ryan.
If crying were bad or weak, why would God design it in our system?
There is a time of mourning.
In fact, we should mourn for as long as we can to move forward.
Men, women, children – All should be allowed to cry and mourn as much as their hearts desire. It’s good to get it all out of the system and move forward. Instead of bottling up the emotions forever under the garb of strength.
When It’s Safe to Cry
In contrast, when I would spend time with Ryan in the ICU, there were many moments I would cry. Even though I would be my cheeriest self while talking to him, I would also cry when he wasn’t conscious.
Many times, the staff would give me a tissue-paper box to wipe my tears. But not once did any of them advise me to be strong, or not cry too much. They were supportive and understanding of my situation.
In fact, a lot of the nurses, and ICU staff and I got around to being friends. One Italian woman kept asking me to come to her place. They were curious to know about how Ryan and I met, and about all of us in general. We had a lot of intimate conversations as good, decent human beings.
My point is it’s important to understand we’re all humans at the end of the day. We have a heart and a soul. We’re designed to cry just as we’re designed to laugh.
I’m vociferously vouching for crying, being the eternal optimist that I naturally am. If you don’t cry and mourn naturally in your grieving times, when would you?
You’re not weak or strong if you cry. You’re human.
When Empathy Feels Performed
While most people were genuinely helpful-making you believe in the goodness of humanity-in this modern day, there were few who made you look up and take notice-and not in a good way.
I remember this woman who was sitting in one of the front benches for Ryan’s funeral. She wasn’t too happy, I think. In the middle of the service, she comes and greets us who were sitting in the first bench. After greeting us, she makes my daughter push aside and occupies the first seat on the first bench. This was reserved for the family. Of course, we were not going to tell her that and ask her to go back. But, she happily perched herself there because the spotlight (read video and photography) would be on her. It was absolutely comical to see her expressions while the service was going on. While others were busy sobbing or keeping a solemn expression, she was smiling like the celebrities at an award function when the cameras were on them.
Then there were some overdramatic messages and posts I would get that read so fake. It would have been better off to just write a simple one-liner condolence message. I’m not saying all long messages are fake. But long or short, you can clearly tell who’s genuine and fake like separately the wheat from the chaff.
Then, there are people who’ll promise you the sun, moon, stars, and the universe in your gravest hour. This is just for satisfying their ego and show. Their words and actions have no connection whatsoever.
Then there are people who are present everywhere, not out of concern or support. But they’re secretly happy at your fate. Their body language, the side-eye glance, and their eyes give them away.
Then there are people who’ll show their support to you, but make the conversations all about themselves. As if talking about the dead is taboo. Please check with the bereaved if they want to talk about their deceased beloved or not first. I get it that death might still be an uncomfortable topic for you, but it might not be for the bereaved ones. Let them decide what the topic of discussion should be. For all you know, they might be dying to talk about their dead beloved one to anyone who’s willing to give an ear.
I’m saying or holding no malice against any of them. It’s who they are and may better sense prevail upon them. I really hope it does if any of them are reading this post.
What Truly Matters
There’s no wrong if you’re real.
All that matters for someone who’s lost a beloved one is your pure intent and heart. If you say or do things from a place of love, you really cannot go wrong when it comes to consoling someone who has lost their loved one.
I’ve learned so much from this experience. The love and kindness of people across all faiths, some rank strangers, have left me in awe. I’ve even told a few of them how I aspire to be like them. Be that light in someone’s hour of darkness. Pure and unconditional.
If we are not there for another in times of grief, are we truly human beings?
This post is a part of Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.
