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

Thursday, May 22, 2014

A Widow's Poems



"Adrift" painting by Anne Packard


Sea Child
by Jean Riva 2013 © 
Am I still adrift in the Sea of Sadness,
Or am I standing on the moonlit shore
Waiting for the tide to change and usher
In a foggy-fingered child of mourning?

With the sounds of earth coming alive
What if on the waves a child did ride
And grow anew with the sun as it climbs,
What should we call this bean of the sea?

Do I call her Me or do I call her You,

This girl with the watery-eyed mother
And father sad at the bottom of time
Do I take her hand or wave good-bye?



 The Kite and the String
by Jean Riva 2013 ©

Don held my string.
He helped me fly
But times change
and husbands die.
I try time and again
to untangle myself
from tree after tree
and whether or not
I find my way in wind
again remains to be seen.


Changing Seasons of Widowhood
by Jean Riva 2013 © 

The rustling leaves of seasons past
Seems to say he won’t be near
For the coming holidays so blue.
He’s riding the winds of yesterday
Caught on the breath of Lady Fall
As she makes hearts as bleak as the
Landscape she hands over to Snow. 


 
 The Widow's Dog
by Jean Riva 2013 ©
 


Outside, a rabbit sits still in the early light of day

The dog peeks through the mini blinds and bays.

Every day it’s their way of waking up the widow

Before the sun smacks trees out of their shadows.



In the bathroom, the widow answers nature’s call

As the dog curls himself back up into a sleepy ball.

The rabbit, long gone across the neighbor’s lawn

Where soon off will go another four-legged alarm.



She makes her way across the dim, silent house

Past the empty chair that once held her spouse.

And in the murky kitchen light she stands waiting

As hot, steaming liquid spits out a single serving.



One morning the rabbit will sit, the dog will bay

And the weary widow will not wake up that day.

Now, though, she’ll push the fog of loss aside

And go bond with the others running out of time.




The Widow's Metaphor 
by Jean Riva 2015 ©

Widowhood is a vacuum 
sucking tin soldiers off the floor, 
swirling them around in a dark void 
while other tiny souls still in its path of wrath 
struggle to pull its life-line from the wall.

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