What I’ve Learned in Four Years as a Widow
Here we are. We come to this place every year. An anniversary.
There are plenty of anniversaries to be had – job anniversaries, wedding anniversaries, home-buying anniversaries – but this particular anniversary is a death anniversary. Specifically, it’s my husband’s death anniversary.
Which leads to my yearly rumination of exactly how does one celebrate a death anniversary? Do you put on all black and hope others will notice and join in your sorrow? Do you plan something your lost one would love and try not to think about the irony that they aren’t here to enjoy it?
I’m still not sure, but as I write this morning – 41 minutes from the moment my husband took his last breath four years ago – it seems like the proper time to reflect on all I have learned while on this journey.
Four Years as a Widow
In no particular order, here’s some of what I’ve learned in the past four years since my husband died:
People will disappear. Not just any people, but the people you would have thought were most likely to help. These people will often say, ‘You’re doing great and your husband would be proud,’ as if that absolves them from providing any further assistance.
Other people with appear from the sidelines with food and comfort and house cleaning supplies. You will wonder what you did to deserve such amazing and supportive friends, and they will make up for the people who leave you hanging.
Grief is a physical sensation.
When you are caregiving for someone terminally ill, you’ll often think, ‘Later, I’ll have so much free time.’ You’ll fill up a lot of that free time staring at the wall.
No matter how much time you’ve had to prepare, you’ll still stare at your husband’s unbreathing body and think, ‘WTF just happened?’
There comes a point in grief when simply getting out of bed and brushing your hair is a major victory.
The logistics of raising five children alone are exhausting.
The loneliness of ending each day without someone to check in with is profound.
You will want to die. And you won’t tell anyone because you are terrified of someone calling CPS and causing more trauma.
Then, one day you’ll realize you no longer dream about missing the curves while driving alone.
You will forget what your husband’s voice sounds like, and you’ll try not to think too much about that.
Throughout this journey, people will say the wrong things, but it won’t bother you because you know it comes from a place of genuine love.
Someday, you’ll wake up and realize this is your life now. And instead of feeling depressed or angry or bewildered, you’ll think “It’s ok.”
But you’ll never stop crying.
MaraleenMay 31, 2017
This is Maraleen…The lady who wanted to know how to pronounce your name. I, too have celebrated 4 years without my husband Danny. Some of your thoughts hit home for me…especially the last sentence. In the beginning I was wishing to die so that I could be with him, but my faith is so strong that dying is God’s timing and not mine. There are times I would think and say to myself out loud, “for real!, Danny you are gone!” have a good cry, pray to God that He would move me out of this sadness and move me on to other things to think about. I am keeping productive in terms of getting out and trying to enjoy life as a “widow”.
I am not looking for another husband. I have resigned to the fact that if God wants me to meet a godly man who will love me as much as Danny did, then He will send that man into my life. I tried online dating, but realized that I was not in the frame of mind to even think about really dating or meeting anyone else. Besides who can you really trust.
My kids are married with their own young families. They have their own life to live and I get it. This summer my daughter, her husband and two little boys will be moving out of state. I am not sure how I am going to feel after really realizing that I can’t jump in the car, drive 20 minutes and just smother my grands with hugs and kisses. Now daily visiting time will be on FaceTime. Well, perhaps I better go now…tears are welling up…I gotta go wash windows. Thanks for your thoughts! Maraleen
Maryalene LaPonsieJuly 10, 2017
I missed this comment earlier. I can only imagine how hard that will be to have your daughter and her family move away. FaceTime isn’t quite the same, but I’m glad you’ll be able to keep in touch. All my best to you.
Mary WilsonJune 1, 2017
A virtual hug to both of you. May you feel the Blessed Mother, be a Mother to you right now as she wraps her loving arms around you.
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