I sometimes try to forget that I’m a widow. Not that Mark died, but that I’m a widow. In the last week, though, the Universe is reminding me. Often and loudly.
I’ve been running into things that remind me of Mark, reading about people dealing with loss, supporting fellow widows through difficult times. And then yesterday @CalifMom lost her husband Bob. Reading her tweets and posts are dragging me back to those first few days of widowhood. Those days of complete autopilot. You do everything you need to do to get ready for the ceremonies that surround death, you comfort other people, you eat and sleep (sometimes).
You do everything you have to do, and then you are swallowed by the wall of grief you’ve held at bay until then. And you just try to avoid drowning.
This morning I heard that a colleague’s husband died unexpectedly while they were out of town this past weekend. It’s Tuesday and she’s trying to get her husband’s body home. His body home. Not him, they aren’t coming home together after their trip, she’s coming home and trying to get his earthly remains back for all those ceremonies I talked about earlier.
Husbands and wives and lovers die every day. Widows and widowers come into being every day. And I can usually register the loss and move on. Lately though, the Universe has been screaming at me…
It doesn’t matter that I’m happily remarried with two beautiful boys to take care of. The Universe doesn’t want me to forget that I’m a Widow, and that I have two new compatriots. And I want to just hold them and make it all better and write those stupid thank-you notes that you send out because someone sent you a bunt cake. So that they can avoid drowning just a little bit longer. I can’t hold them, so I cry for them instead.