Simon’s story: Finding strength through WAY’s peer-to-peer support

November 2024

To mark International Men’s Day, WAY member Simon* shares how finding friendship and understanding through WAY’s peer support network after his wife was killed not only helped him stay afloat, but also inspired him to become a volunteer…

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One fine morning in 2019 my beautiful wife was killed on the road by a reckless HGV driver. That evening, after they returned from primary school, I had to break the news to our two kids. It was the hardest single thing I’ve ever had to do. 

From that moment on, I knew I had to be everything for my kids. They needed stability. 

I also knew I needed to comfort others in shock. I knew I had to show I was calm and ‘ok’. I was expected and advised to ‘be strong’ – people needed to see that. I didn’t cry in front of anyone. I managed practicalities. I made others feel better. 

Of course, it was only an outward impression. Inside I was all at sea – I was drowning. It was like the peaceful little boat of our family life, so happily bobbing along, was suddenly and violently torpedoed. And I was clinging to a piece of the wreckage and my kids were clinging to me. I was trying desperately not to be engulfed.

It feels like that a lot of the time now, but the pain is getting less intense. I heard about peer support groups, like WAY Widowed and Young, but initially dismissed the idea. How on earth could I possibly hold anyone else’s agony when I couldn’t even hold my own? I was desperate for someone to hold me – literally and metaphorically. Just to stay with my torment. But (as I was to later learn is common) most of the time people avoided the subject; or trivialised my anguish with their ‘at least’ comments; or offered supposedly ‘wise words’ of advice. 

Lockdown hit us soon after. Compounding the emotional isolation of grief, we were now in physical isolation. Everything seemed bizarre.

Opening up to peer support

We all know that death is the ultimate taboo. It’s also a cruel reality that the more shocking the death, the more difficult it is for some people to find the courage to face us. Maybe they’re scared of having to face their own feelings. I used to think that their embarrassment was, in some way, my ‘fault’: my suffering seemed like a shameful secret that brought negativity to others. Like my very situation, my own existence even, was a problem – I brought a ‘downer’ to people’s day. So my sense of isolation intensified. 

After some time, I benefited from individual grief therapy. My therapist was an excellent fit for me. It was so demanding, but ultimately helpful. Yet I also sometimes felt like a pathetic wretch. Inevitably there’s an imbalance between you with all your agony and the in-control therapist. This is when I started to open up to the idea of peer support.

Everyone I’ve met through WAY has a story of someone (often some close to them – friend or family) turning their back on them. One of the most magical things about meeting people in WAY is that none of us do that. We simply look each other in the eye without judgement, only empathy. We hold each other’s pain. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. 

As we emerged from lockdown, I went along to my first WAY event and then the WAY annual get-together, where I’ve had the privilege to meet the most wonderful people and make some special, enduring friendships. 

“I hate the thought of each of us sitting alone”

Since then I’ve organised a couple of events in my local area. It’s incredibly gratifying to bring people together. I just hate the thought of each of us sitting alone, engulfed in our sorrow and isolation. Getting together feels like a ‘no brainer’. It makes me so happy to see people who’d been suffering alone meeting other people who ‘get it’.

I’ve also become a WAY volunteer – and this includes hosting Zoom meetings for new members. We joke that it’s the ‘exclusive club’ no one wants to join! It’s a huge privilege for me to be entrusted to hold people in that space.  It’s beautiful to see people, otherwise complete strangers, bound together in grief holding each other. It’s truly an honour to host a meeting in which people open up to share their feelings. 

Although everyone’s story is different, there are some consistent themes that come up time and again. There’s the death itself and what happened and then there’s the reactions of people around you. If you’re fortunate you may have kind and sensitive people around you to hold your pain, and simply share the view alongside you without judgement. Sadly, I’ve learned that is often the exception. Grief isn’t an illness – it’s a healthy and necessary reaction to our terrible loss of love. It’s the ultimate human leveller and in our solidarity at WAY, we can feel just a little less alone and a bit more understood.  

* Simon is not his real name.