Almost two years after my husband’s death I’m still grieving – but I’m also living in his honour

For Margaret McNally, a chance encounter helped spark her realisation that during bereavement there is joy – and a life to live

It had been many years since a man offered to buy me a drink in a late-night lounge bar. I wouldn’t ordinarily be found in such a place and the only man to have bought my drinks for 25 years was my husband. But when a long, lean gentleman took me by surprise with his invitation, I surprised myself by saying yes. Moments earlier, in a brief exchange, I had told him my husband had died 19 months ago.

Seated at the bar, this stranger beside me asked if I was “emerging”. I don’t recall my grief counsellor or clinical psychologist ever asking this. Mostly, people ask the perfunctory “how are you? ”– a question often predicated on an “I’m OK” response, even when you’re not. People mean well but most don’t know what to say to the bereaved. Many say nothing. People want us to be OK. They fear knowing the ugly reality of how we truly are, lest grief is contagious. Grief is uncomfortable, for everyone.

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