Finding hope in the Gloomiest month

January is often thought to be the gloomiest month. Christmas is over, the weather’s terrible, and all that’s left are the Ibs you’ve put on, the £s you’ve spent, resolutions broken already, and the summer still months away. Not much to be joyful about there.

But for some of us, there is also the fact that the life partner you used to spend Christmas with has passed away. Now there’s no one to ask how your day has been, to get you just what you’ve always wanted, to ask “does my bum look big in this?”, and generally to share life with. Depressing doesn’t begin to cover it.

I know that’s true, not because I read it somewhere but because I’ve lived through it. My lovely and remarkable wife, Fiona, and I met as students in Edinburgh. When she was looking for volunteers to help with a holiday club in Westray, I put my hand up. Little did I know what that would lead to.

During that week, Fiona suggested sea swimming one evening. While I was still getting my rubber booties on, she was already in the water. In the blink of an eye, she was a hundred yards out and shouting help.

I swam to the rescue and six days later asked her, “Would you marry me?” She very cleverly replied, “I would, but I don’t know if I will…” We were engaged for two years and married for 37. Fiona got a cancer diagnosis in 2015 and passed away in January 2019 - right in the middle of the gloomiest time of year…

That was seven years ago, and it’s not been an easy journey. However, my principal feeling now is not sadness that I lost my soul mate but gratitude for the astonishing good fortune to have spent almost 40 years with her. I should be so lucky.

Suddenly Single

In the immediate aftermath, I was desperate for comfort, but despite much searching couldn’t find a support group I could join. So, once I had recovered enough, I started one. “Suddenly Single” is the name of our group and was the front page headline in the Orcadian New Year issue in 2022.

Now, looking back over these years, I think I’m finally in a position to reflect on what I’ve learned.

Firstly, a bit of a cliché but true nevertheless - time is a great healer. Nothing stays the same and, for most of us, that includes our pain. As days turn into weeks, months, and years, we still miss our loved one, but somehow, like scar tissue, life seems to grow around the loss.

Suddenly, you might find yourself having an ok day - something you thought might never happen again. The next day might be awful, but then a few weeks later, there’s another good one.

Then, perhaps imperceptibly, the ok days get more frequent. You might make new friends, take up a new hobby, achieve something good, and have fun. And maybe even Christmas might not be so bad.

Secondly, I’ve found that it’s good to spend time with other people and not hide away - tempting as that may be. My first trip south to visit friends after the funeral was awful. No sooner had I left than I wanted to be back.

The next trip wasn’t much better, but gradually things have improved. I’m now able to travel and have built a circle of coffee pals whom I meet every week, and once a month, there’s Suddenly Single. Sometimes bereavement comes up, but often we just chat like “normal people,” And that’s good.

What I've learned

Another thing I’ve learned, and this is borne out by the Suddenly Single group, is that you have to choose your confidants carefully. People you thought you were close to “move on” a lot quicker than you and may not want to hear about your struggles.

You go to bed on your own and get up on your own. You are buying and cooking for one now, and there’s nobody there to help you change a duvet cover. But not everyone has the capacity or interest to hear about it, or may not know how to reply.

A 2025 study found that 83% of people think the nation is bad at talking about death and grief, that 88% of people feel alone in their grief, and that more than one in four feel they can’t talk about it.

That is the reality, and it doesn’t help to get upset about it. Thankfully, I have a few close friends to whom I can say anything and be listened to, but not everyone fits that bill. Real friendship is a treasure in life.

Finally, we have somehow got the idea that people should be able to “get over it” and “move on”. which seems to suggest putting your life companion out of your mind, getting on with things, and finding someone new as soon as you can.

Personally, I’ve not been able to do that and, in fact, have even been accused of “living in the past,” which hurt.

So it was good news to find that modern thinking no longer requires it. An idea called “Continuing Bonds” first appeared in the late 90s and is now perhaps the dominant therapeutic approach.

This accepts that you still have a relationship with the deceased person, although, of course, it is different now. Remembering them, reviewing photographs, sharing anecdotes and treasured memories, and missing them are not only inevitable but are not pathological.

It’s entirely ok to remember wonderful times you shared and to think about what it was that made you love them in the first place, so long as you can still engage in your current life and activities.

Grief doesn't need to define you

Personally, I have found that enormously liberating and reassuring. Fiona remains in my thoughts every day with her wonderful personality and wit.

I remember once looking at myself in our bedroom mirror and commenting, “You know, I don’t look too bad if I pull my stomach in”. Without a blink, Fiona replied, “Well, on you go then!” That made me laugh then, and it makes me laugh now. How could I be expected to leave that behind?

I’m not going to pretend it’s been easy. Coping with significant grief and loss may be the hardest thing you’ll do in this life. But that doesn’t need to be what defines you.

You still love the one you lost, and the feeling of loss is a measure of the bond between you. Grief, they say, is love persevering, and I doubt if many of us would want our love to have been lesser.

So this January will pass as it has every other year, and there’s a good chance that there may be blue skies ahead, as well as the odd shower of rain. Someone said death is not extinguishing the light, it is putting out the lamp because the dawn has come. That gives me hope.

If any of this resonates with you, join us at the bereavement support group Suddenly Single and be assured that we know what you’re going through. We normally meet on the second Friday of each month at the Albert Hotel in Kirkwall.