Welcome to the Misadventures of Widowhood blog!
In January of 2012 my soul mate of 42 years passed away after nearly 12 years of living with severe disabilities due to a stroke. I survived the first year after Don’s death doing what most widows do---trying to make sense of my world turned upside down. The pain and heartache of loss, my dark humor, my sweetest memories and, yes, even my pity parties are well documented in this blog.
Now that I’m a "seasoned widow" the focus of my writing has changed. I’m still a widow looking through that lens but I’m also a woman searching for contentment, friends and a voice in my restless world. Some people say I have a quirky sense of humor that shows up from time to time in this blog. Others say I make some keen observations about life and growing older. I say I just write about whatever passes through my days---the good, bad and the ugly. Comments welcome and encouraged. Let's get a dialogue going! Jean
Friday, April 6, 2012
No, Officer, It's Just my Husband
A lot of thoughts went through my head while I looked at the stone---scrambled, mixed up ideas along with bittersweet memories. But the main idea involved Duck tape. They say you can do anything with Duck tape so maybe I’ll just use some to cover up my name on the Vermont marble. It creeps me out seeing it preserved for all eternity! It’s bad enough that I have to see Don’s name etched deep and black against the unpolished background. What else could I do? He wanted a tombstone. He got it. He wanted “happy trails to you until we meet again” on the stone. He got it. See, things work out when you plan ahead. I just remembered those were the very last words I said to Don. He had passed just minutes before and he had such a sweet, angelic look of peace on his face. I’ll never forget that look. Damn it, I just made myself cry again!
A lot of the headstones near by ours have things glued on top or stuck in the ground: knickknacks of all descriptions---birdbaths, flowers, pinwheels, figurines, solar lights and wind chimes. Lots of wind chimes. We’re moving into a noisy neighborhood. I did some thinking about what Don would like on his side of the stone. Whatever I pick will probably have four wheels and goes “zoom, zoom!” in little boy talk. Or maybe a plastic Snoopy would do. He’d like that. On my side, maybe I’ll put my Fossil sundial watch. It’s always good to know what time it is when you’re in a cemetery.
On another spur of the moment decision I stopped at the near-by funeral home to arrange to do the interment of Don’s ashes on our anniversary which is coming up soon. While I was there the funeral director gave me a boxed, plastic bag with part of Don’s ashes to scatter at Lake Michigan this summer. That packet came with a document clearly spelling out the contents within “just in case you get stopped by the police.” Apparently cremated remains have been mistake for cocaine. That’s just what I’d need, to get arrested for transporting my husband around in a plastic bag! I just may leave him there in the trunk, though, until the day I go to the lake because those ashes sure kept me from speeding on the way home. Plus I haven’t had a vehicle with a trunk since the ‘70s and it seems fitting that Don gets the honor of being the very first “item” to get toted around town in my brand new trunk. It even has a glow-in-the-dark trunk release handle inside in case Don’s spirit wants to set his ashes free while I’m going down the highway. ©