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
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Today I had on my job list to clear everything out of the bathroom that was Don’s. It took me all morning---including the timeouts to lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I ended up saving his Stetson cologne and even dabbed enough on me to smell like I took a bath in the stuff. I couldn’t help it. When I open up the bottle it’s like I’m smelling the essence of his soul. Well, that might be a little melodramatic to claim that, but I think most people will agree that certain scents go with certain people and Don was a Stetson man.
At their website today I learned that Stetson is a name that “embodies the authentic heritage and spirit of the American West. It’s individuality that can never be tamed or fenced in. Authentic style that telegraphs who you are without saying a word. And confidence that comes from knowing there's nothing you can't handle. Stetson Cologne," the website said, "carries on this legacy with fragrances for men and women that represent the pride, passion, and confidence of the pioneers. See, the real, true West," they claim, "isn't a place at all. It's a state of mind.” Wow! All that in a little bottle of spicy, gold liquid. But you know what? Don was authentic and confident, full of passion and a rugged individualist. And, oh, did he love the West! How ever he found the cologne many years ago, he definitely fit the stereotype Stetson wants their product to project.
I can’t say much for the taste of Stetson, though, which leads me to my little tip to other widows: always wash your hands after taking a bath in your husband’s cologne. You never know when you’ll be inclined to sit in the corner and suck your thumb. ©
Monday, January 30, 2012
This afternoon I sat in the kitchen, eating the gourmet ice cream right out of the carton while making calls to cancel all of Don’s upcoming appointments and to get information on removing his name from various documents, etc., etc. etc. So much paper work comes with dying! A half a pint eaten, half the calls on my list completed. Do the math and you’ll know exactly what I’ll be doing tomorrow. ©
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Widowhood: Day one after the funeral. I made some calls today to notify people about Don’s passing. One was to the medical supply company that rented us his oxygen machine and the backup oxygen tanks to use during power outages that never happened. Who wants to look at those big, ugly monsters sitting there no longer doing their job? Anyway, the woman on the phone says, “And when was your husband’s expiration date?”
Expiration date? I thought, We're not boxes of cereal with expiration dates stamped on our bottoms! If that were true we could have planned our lives better, darn it!
That thought got me to laughing and visualizing poor Don's bare butt with the expiration date tattooed on one cheek. No doubt Ms. Medical Supply Lady thought I was entirely too happy, given the nature of my call. I wasn't happy, of course, but I'd already used up my daily crying quota by noon and it was 2:00 in the afternoon.
How long do you suppose it will take her before it dawns on her that there’s a difference between saying, “When did your husband expire?” and “What was his expiration date?” Then again, maybe I’m the one with a warped sense of humor. Maybe she says that same thing day after day and I’m the only one who laughed and found it even funnier when she got annoyed at me for finding dark humor in trying to arrange for a pick up of medical equipment.