Who am I?
That’s a good question, and honestly, my answer used to depend on the day and how I was feeling. Nowadays, though, it depends on who is listening…
There was a time in my life, when I would describe who I was by saying, “—‘s wife” or “—‘s mom.” It was a time when I was lost somewhere in someone else’s identity. In truth, I was a stay-at-home wife and mother. I also homeschooled four children and directed multiple choirs – both choir and community. Years later, even though I still described myself as “—‘s wife” or “—‘s mom,” I was a teacher at a small, Catholic school. Yet, somehow, I was still identifying myself by the people around me.
After my divorce, I began to see myself differently. I began to recognize me… who I was as a human being… Not just my family or what I did for a living, but all the parts of me – my faith, my passions, my feelings, my thoughts… The whole package. I spent time getting alone and asking myself hard questions – not allowing myself to answer with “I don’t know.”
These were good changes and helped to build up my self-value. So, by the time I met Bruce, I was ready. I knew who I was and what I thought. Not that I was stuck there… There was a need for healing and certainly room for growth, but those are probably ongoing items for most us, right? Throughout my marriage to Bruce, he encouraged that growth. He liked that I was strong and independent. He was never intimidated by me keeping my own name or my own bank account. No matter what, he was always there cheering me on to be stronger. He was never trying to make me “better” … just a stronger “me.”
I didn’t describe myself as “Bruce’s wife” anymore than he described himself as my husband. Yes, we were married, but we were both strong, independent people who simply wanted to share our lives with each other. However, neither of us had the need to overwhelm the other in our relationship… Neither of us needed to drown out the other.
Then, he was gone… And in that moment, my world imploded. All that “strength” I thought I possessed went right out the window. I was like a child wondering around in the dark – lost, alone, and scared to death. The first few weeks were spent in shock – just feeling numb. I managed to go through the motions of everyday life, but inside it felt like I was dead, too. I didn’t know how to keep going and there were many days when I didn’t want to… It took every bit of strength just to keep breathing.
I remember a particular day, about a week after Bruce died. I was at the pharmacy up the road picking up a couple of things, when I noticed two elderly women. They shuffled past me in the aisle talking about how lonely they were at home and how hard it was to live alone. Then, it dawned on me… They were widows… And worse, I, too, was a widow. I fought the idea… I couldn’t be a widow! Widows are elderly. They have gray hair. They need help. How could I be a widow?? No, this was not possible.
I know I’m a weird cookie, but I actually went home and started doing a little bit of research on widows. I learned that the average age of widows in the US is 56… 56!!! I was a little bit younger than that at the time, but still… That was not anywhere near my own ideas of what a widow was. Despite my own reality, I struggled to wrap my brain around it.
It seemed so weird to think that I was a widow… That was now a part of who I was. Then, I did this really weird (awkward) thing. Whenever I introduced myself and gave that brief “speech” of who I was, I always included the fact that I was a widow. Somehow that had now become who I was. Yes, it was a part of me, but I let it completely take over… And let me tell you, those four little words, “I am a widow,” can silence a room and stop a conversation before the words are completely out. I feel terrible about it now, but it was part of what I was going through. Maybe it was my way of trying to accept it myself. Maybe it came out because it was all I could think about 24/7. Who knows??
I do know that with time, I stopped making that a part of my “who am I” talk. Eventually, I became aware of just how awkward those few words made people… And I get it… What can you say to that?? There is nothing really that can make it right. And if you are just meeting someone, is that really what they need to know? So, I learned to keep that to myself. I learned to keep most of my thoughts and emotions limited to my journal and this space. I learned that even with people who knew about my loss, it was an awkward conversation. So, unless they specifically asked and I could look in their eyes and know their questions were genuine, I just learned not to talk about it. Don’t misunderstand… I still talked about Bruce a lot, just not the pain of losing him. Bruce’s death, my greatest loss, was something that I needed to keep to myself for the most part.
Now… These were my choices. This was how I chose to deal with it, and I don’t in any way put those decisions on anyone else. I am only sharing it because of something that happened recently… Actually, something that has happened quite a bit recently.
Life has moved forward. Many of the people that knew me then have either moved away or taken new jobs, so our time together is less than it was. You know what I mean – it’s just life. Most of the people who are close to me now, didn’t know me then. They never saw the joy I had when Bruce was alive or the pain of losing him. They never saw me wear black for months on end or heard me say I couldn’t keep going. They never saw me crying day after day or know that I practically stopped eating for years. Those are all things they don’t know… will never know.
But all those things… losing Bruce… shaped me in a way that nothing else ever has. It has left me with a hole somewhere in my soul, while at the same time given me an appreciation for just how precious this life is.
So, what happened, you ask?
Well, it’s not any one thing. Instead it is just casual conversations… Conversations about heartbreak when boyfriends and girlfriends break up and how “there is nothing worse” … Trust me – there is! Conversations about funerals – what they feel is acceptable and what isn’t. Please, trust me when I say, you don’t know what you will do until you have to do it. Conversations about other new widows and judgement about what they are or are not doing. Please, please, please, trust me – don’t judge what you don’t know. And the list goes on…
Each time one of these conversations has happened, I have been torn. I don’t know if I should feel guilty or good that they are so oblivious to my situation in regards to the things they say.
Should I remind them that I, too, have had my heart ripped out, had to plan a funeral that should never have happened so soon, and have made millions of mistakes on this “new normal” path called widowhood. Or… do I stay quiet and let them say whatever they feel they need to say. Have I done a disservice to Bruce or to them by not saying anything? Have I dishonored Bruce somehow by the simple fact that they don’t remember I am a widow, too? I know that they are aware, but does it ever factor into their thoughts when they are talking? Or does that the fact that I go on with my life lead them to believe it doesn’t hurt anymore? And finally, would it make a difference if I did say anything, or would it just make things awkward?
For me, at this point in time, I choose to stay silent. Things might change tomorrow, but for today, this is where I am. I have this blog, and I have a few people that I know I can turn too when the pain gets to be too much. While I have to be honest with myself and acknowledge that being a widow really IS a part of who I am, I know it doesn’t end there. I, also, believe there is some good to be found in everything and everything happens for a reason, even those things that bring us the most pain, and even if I don’t understand it at the time. There is also one other thing I know without a doubt… While this is something I would never, ever wish on anyone, if the time should ever come when anyone around me finds themselves on this path, struggling to figure out how they got here and how to move forward, I will be here for them… And I will understand and have compassion for their pain because of this “widow” part of who I am.
This week has been a hard one for this nation. It has been a week of hard questions and a lot of asking myself “who am I” and what do I stand for… Love and compassion – that is what I stand for. Understanding that we all have known pain and we all need to be heard and understood. Understanding that I can’t understand, but I want to listen. What about your? What about your story? What do you need us to hear today? What do you need us to understand? We would love to hear your story and share a virtual hug. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or even a virtual hug, let us know… we are here for you. To leave a comment or story, go to the comments and leave us a note. * Who knows… your story may the answer for someone else.
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