I looked at my Facebook and glanced at my relationship
status. It still says
"Married." No word but widow
described what I was. Single said too little. I noticed the other options: It's
complicated. Well, yes (what loss is uncomplicated?) and no: Death leaves you
with zero options. Separated. I was
that, too, but more drastic and sadder than the word usually suggests. Some
hope that separation from their spouses might be temporary; mine could be
nothing but permanent.
I was no longer married; I was a widow and this, the only
appropriate designation, felt hard-earned. Dave's sickness and death belonged
to him, but they had changed my life, too, making demands and requiring
sacrifices. The path that led me from wife to widow has been long, crooked, and
extremely painful. When his cancer counts came down, I rejoiced with him; when
it reappeared, we despaired together, we cried together and we dreamed together, I asked questions in oncologists' offices and took notes. I
cried constantly, I went through hell and back and still lost everything at the
end.
Now after a few months, I felt ready to date.I
have started to miss companionship, the everyday pleasures of having a man in
my life, the art and the wanting to be loved and cherished
Widowhood also has had a strange sanctifying effect on how
people in general, perceive me. Maybe it's because so many have
called me "courageous," but as soon as I utter the word
"widow," I sense I'm being seen as a living saint and that my
marriage was flawless, which of course isn't true. "You must have really
loved him," a few have said in awe. Well, yes, of course I loved him,
hopelessly actually but our marriage was
like most: It had highs and lows. In the year before Dave got sick, we'd gone
through a ruff patch in our marriage But it seems as though Dave's sickness and death smoothed all the rough
edges off our relationship, leaving behind something ideal, untouchable
I don't believe that the dying mean to teach us anything but
I do know that there was nothing Dave wanted more when he was sick than to live
another day. And that's worth remembering: Take it one day at a time. .
Even if I do, although my Facebook status would change once
more, I'll carry the experience of widowhood forever. But the burden does get
lighter and where once the possibility of ever having a relationship again was
unthinkable, I don't feel that way anymore. I don't feel tragic, or
anomalous. I
feel positive for the future, that maybe ... just maybe, I will be loved again
and cherished for not financially bringing into the relationship but what I can
give eternally
