Sex After Grief. Joan Price
and Joyce Carol Oates’s classic memoirs about mourning a beloved husband. They are lauded as unflinching, but in their combined nearly seven hundred pages, there is no mention of the type of sexual bereavement I was experiencing. The unspoken message, as I received it: Keep your mouths shut about sex. I turned to self-help books for widows, and found that there, too, discussions about sex were pretty much nonexistent.”
—Alice Radosh, “Taboo Times,” in Modern Loss: Candid Conversation about Grief. Beginners Welcome by Rebecca Soffer and Gabrielle Birkner
There are many books about grief after loss of a beloved, but they almost never talk about sex. As research for this book, I read or perused dozens of contemporary books specifically about grief after death of a spouse or beloved partner. Almost none of them mentioned sex, and of those that did rarely more than a page was about this important part of life. It’s time to talk out loud about sex and grieving.
My love affair with Robert Rice was the reason I decided to write about sex and aging at age sixty-one with Better Than I Ever Expected: Straight Talk about Sex After Sixty. Over fourteen years, one book turned into four—and this one makes five. Senior sex education in its many forms—books, articles, my blog (www.nakedatourage.com), speaking engagements, Q and A column, webinars, a newsletter—became my mission and my life.
But when my second book, Naked at Our Age: Talking Out Loud about Senior Sex, was just a glimmer in my eye and two pages of notes, Robert—by then my husband—died. Died. Died. Died. That word insists that I write it again and again, as if the word is animate and claws repeatedly at my heart and my tear ducts.
My grief journey has lasted more than ten years as I write this book at age seventy-five. I’ve gone from such intense wailing, sobbing, and keening that I couldn’t leave the house to living with joy again, becoming capable of laughter and intimacy once more, and letting a new, dear person into my heart. During that time, I cycled through a roller coaster of despair before learning to be a fully alive, sexual being again.
Many people helped me in my grief journey. I pay it forward by helping others. Part of that debt repayment, I realize, needs to be a book with this narrow focus: How do we become capable of sex and intimacy when the person we want most to share this with is dead? How do we find our way to letting someone else in? How do we know when we’re ready? Is there one way that works for everyone?
The easy answer to that last question: No. We all experience grief in our own way, and that includes the myriad ways that we invite sex into our lives, or don’t, and we change along the way. We all respond differently, and, as you’ll hear me say throughout this book, however you respond is normal.
Some people feel frenetic sexual energy and yearn for a sexual outlet right away. Some start dating immediately, some gradually, some not ever. Some withdraw from sexual possibility. Some share their bodies but not their hearts. Many give themselves sexual release to the fantasy of their lost loved one. You’ll meet many of these people in this book, whom I’ve named “Grievers,” as they open their private lives and thoughts to you. I hope you’ll come away realizing that no one is wrong and no choice is defective or shameful. You’ll learn many options, and you will choose for yourself.
You’ll read about some options that are clearly not your style or don’t fit your beliefs. Please avoid condemning others who choose those paths. There’s a difference between saying, “This would not be right for me,” and “You shouldn’t do this either.”
As a writer, I documented most of my own changes as I struggled in grief, sometimes as public writing, often as private journaling. Other grievers shared their stories with me and continue to do so, and I know you’ll learn much from them. Grief counselors were essential to my journey. I took notes after my sessions, and I share some of their wise suggestions with you. Excerpts from all these patches of my grief quilt are in this book to inform and help you.
I could not have written or even envisioned this book ten years ago, five years ago, or even two years ago. It took experiencing my grief journey fully, trying in many diverse ways to integrate my sexuality with my loss, and finally reaching an equilibrium that became not only acceptable but joyful. At this point, I feel ready to share my intimate journey with you in hope that it will help you as you experience your own.
I’m known as a writer and speaker about older-age sexuality. This book is mostly, but not exclusively, from a senior perspective. If you’re younger, 80 percent of it will speak to you and give you information you won’t find elsewhere. If you’re not grieving but are dating someone who has lost a partner, you’ll understand that person better. If you’re a therapist whose bereaved clients come to you with their sexual longings, guilt, or desires, I hope you’ll put this book in their hands after reading it yourself.
If you’re a griever, parts of this book may make you cry, whether your grief is fresh or well-seasoned. It did that to me, writing it. As a sex educator and a grief survivor who has acquired some wisdom along the way, I feel it’s my mission to write this book. If it helps you, I hope you’ll let me know. You can reach me at [email protected].
Your Takeaway
What questions do you hope this book will answer?
Myths about Sex and Grieving
“Day after day, you must endure the misguided comments from well-meaning people who just don’t have a clue…There are those who say just the right thing; others who are well-meaning but stumble because they don’t know better; and others who say or do things that are deeply hurtful.”
—Patrick O’Malley, PhD, in Getting Grief Right: Finding Your Story of Love in The Sorrow of Loss
You’ll probably have to deal with people who judge or shame or worry about you because of your personal choices. You’ll be judged by people who think you’re dating too quickly or moving into sex with a new person too fast. You’ll be judged for remaining celibate.
Advice from friends and family can be helpful, but not always. Even when well-intentioned, advice that clamps down your sexuality can stall your healing and make you feel ashamed of your feelings and your body’s desires. Likewise, advice that pushes you forward before you’re ready can make you feel like you’re doing grief wrong.
It’s better to get your advice from a sex-positive therapist, grief counselor, or hospice worker. By “sex positive,” I mean that they see sex as a normal and healthy part of life. They support you when you’re ready to open up to sex again, acknowledging that there’s no time frame that is right for everyone. (See Chapter 16, Grief Counselors, Sex Coaches, Support Groups for more.)
“Friends try to comfort with words
But they are taking my experience
and writing their own on top
Like an artist painting oil over watercolor.”
—Susan Jean LaMaire, in “Seven Stages Scrambled” in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Grieving and Recovery
Myths Others Tell Us
Here are examples of myths about sex and grief. Some you may hear from people in your life or read in magazine articles. Others are beliefs you may have internalized about how grief works. Realize that these are myths, not truths.
Myth: It’s not really sex you’re missing: it’s touch. Hug a friend or get a massage.
Truth: Sure, you’re missing touch. But you’re also missing sex: touch + arousal + orgasm.
“These [self-help books for widows] urged me not to confuse missing touch (acceptable) with missing sex (misguided). Missing touch didn’t have anything to do with sex, I was told, and could be replaced with massages, cuddling grandchildren, and even going to hair salons to get shampoos. Clearly, they didn’t know what Bart was like in bed. This loss wasn’t something a hairdresser could handle.”