Its Called Widowhood

August 7, 2015. The day I began the journey of walking forward without him by my side. I felt many things. Pain and sorrow, grief and anger, confusion, uncertainty, relief that he no longer suffered. Relief that I had the strength to support him until his last breath. A feeling of life being overwhelming on many fronts. 

There was a feeling that he was too young to die, I mean he was only 55. And I was FAR too young to be a widow. I began to try on that new label, "widow". It was uncomfortable. My days consisted of trying to make sense of it all. To find a path that was unclear from this vantage point. To return to a life of 'singleness' again after years of marriage. It didn't fit quite right. The "us" that we had worked so hard to become was now a "me" Over 20 years, God had brought us together and cemented that bond in ways that I would never fully understand until that day came when he was physically no longer here. "Widow". That new label was distasteful.

'Widow' was supposed to encapsulate it all. To give meaning to my new state of being. This new single-ness, cast upon me without my permission, without me having a say in the matter of what "we" were to become, what "I" was to become. I hated that term."Widow". He was no longer physically here with me.  What was I to do with myself now? We were bonded for decades and especially these past months, my life was filled not only loving and supporting him but caring for his needs and letting him know I was here. That I would not falter. That although wounded by the path we were given, I would be here. I would be present and would be walking this path with him, by his side. Lending strength, lending an ear. And when that was no longer possible, holding his hand, his heart.
So now, I'm a widow. There is an alone-ness here, even when there is activity. Like a heart that is torn in two. The life we lived together, that is no longer. How do I function? How do I go on? What do I do? Is it worth the effort? Can I become "single": again? Is it worth the effort? Can my life have value? What does it matter? Does anything really matter now that I am no longer whole? 

The strongest feeling by far was that I was no longer whole. A portion of me had been torn away, an amputation of sorts. A wounded-ness that initially requires drastic life-saving measures, to staunch the bleeding, cauterizing the wounds, providing support so that the body is given the support it needs to begin to heal itself. It (the body) then works to normalize itself without that limb. With the gaping wounds, the body works to maintain itself without succumbing to the traumatic event, a sealing of those wounds. The stitches bind the wound, the swelling subsides, the partial limb survives. But, it is not whole, it is forever changed. So, with time, one learns to walk again. Not the same as before, not really whole, but modified to function without that limb in the space it used to occupy. "Amputation" seems like a synonym for "Widow". 

"Widowhood". Over the past couple of months, the uncomfortableness with the label has changed, but it still does not sit well. The hate has transformed to dislike. I imagine that over time, it will become familiar even though it really doesn't fit. That widowhood is not really me. It is a role cast upon me that I did not choose to audition for. But, it sits here with me anyway.