A Widow’s Holiday Secrets and Confessions

“We can all find reasons to be thankful,” I was told when I was lamenting the fact that I wasn’t looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with strangers. Ya, sure we can. After all, isn’t thankfulness ‘mindset' #12' in the Handbook for Better Living, a book I’ve been preaching from my entire life? Thankfulness is a cornerstone of philosophic thought all over the world and I know the Thanksgiving Day drill: “Dear Lord, I’m thankful for central heat, clean water, indoor plumbing and the fact that my address isn’t ‘the center refrigerator box underneath the Main Street viaduct.’ I’m thankful that farmer Jack’s cows come home every night for milking, that I have Ben and Jerry’s Death by Chocolate ice cream in my freezer, and that we’re not living in a nuclear winter.” But here’s where I get a little testy. We humans are multi-taskers so why is it so hard to understand if a thankful widow---anticipating a Thanksgiving dinner with strangers---can visualize herself standing up on her chair and proclaiming she’s got a whole cup of crazy going on in her head? “But I am thankful you invited me here,” she’d continue, “and I thank you for asking me to lead us in prayer.” Of course, you know I’m not going to do that at dinner on Thursday, even though I am stressing out over the very real possibility they’ll ask me to lead a pray, me the person these super-sized Christians don’t realize is an agnostic.

You’ve got to admit there’s a difference between having a good time and pretending you are so you’ll get invited back by the hostess of whatever affair you’re attending. You want her to know her kind gesture of including you is sincerely appreciated. And isn’t that what a good guest is supposed to do? We bring a little wine, maybe a box of bonbons or flashy flowers and smile in all the right places. We help where ever we can and feed their dog under that table. We are good little guests who try hard not to let on that we feel out of place, like a fish swimming in olive oil. I am woman, master of multitasking and I can be as two-faced as the next person. “Thank you very much for inviting me and my ghost for dinner," but did you have to let your uncle Harry sit on his lap?

Last year, my holiday season and the invitations that came with it was all about concentrating on not bursting into tears. This year my mission statement for the holidays is to “dam the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” I am a woman at war, a woman determined to stand on her own two feet. A widow who can move on with the best of them. But I’ll tell you a few secrets I’ve learned over the past year. Moving on doesn’t mean you forget. It doesn’t mean you can’t be both thankful and regretful at the same time and still be a perfectly balanced, sane person who knows how to keep her cup of crazy from spilling over. And the piece of résistance of all secrets is this: in the second year of widowhood a woman must learn to carry her losses forward (minus the pain) to live in harmony with the joy that she’s adding back into her life one baby step at a time. It’s hard work. It’s worthy widow’s work to let go of the pain that came tethered to our losses. And, yes, I am thankful I learned these secrets in a timely manner and I didn’t scratch anyone’s eyes out in the process. I am woman and I’ve roared enough for today. ©

The Widow's Dance

Nearly twenty months out from my husband’s passing and there are still “death details” to iron out. The latest one involves getting the deed on the house transferred from my husband’s and my name to just mine. Should be simple, right? There's no mortgage and a quick claim deed filed with a death certificate should take care of the matter. Or so I was told. But the county clerk sent the papers back to me with a note saying that I must provide proof that we were married at the time he died. How do you prove something like that and why isn’t it enough that the death certificate lists me as Don’s wife? You get documents to prove birth, death, marriage and divorce but no one issues you a yup-you’re-still-married certificate. To make it more frustrating, the quick claim form came back on Saturday so I have the whole, long holiday weekend to mull over this “hiccup” before I can make some calls to find out how exactly I’m suppose to prove what they want me to prove. It’s the widow’s dance: two-three steps forward, one step back.

Then there is the mail addressed to Don that never seems to end. Some days he gets more than I do. Yes, I know I could go down to the post office, file out a form and they’ll return all of his mail to the senders. But every so often something important comes along with all his junk mail and even though I think I’ve gotten the important stuff---the bills, credit cards and banking---all changed over to my name what if I don’t? I’d also hate it if Don won the Reader’s Digest Sweepstakes and the post office sent his over-sized check back. His junk mail gives me a good memory once in a while, too, like recently when a car dealership sent a key in the mail inviting him to try the key out on a car they’re giving away and if doesn’t fit at least he’d get a brand new dollar coin for coming down. Of course, we’d have to go to the dealership when he got one of those keys in the past but I honestly think he would have been disappointed if he’d won the car instead of the coin. What can I say, it was cheap entertainment to indulge Don’s dealership key plan for adding to his coin collection.

If it wasn’t for long holiday weekends I’d say I’m doing well managing my post-Don life. I got through the first year---the mourning year---and I’m closing in on the end of the second year---the rebuilding my life year. This widow is on track to finding and opening the next chapter in my life, whatever that turns out to be. I’m still exploring. But in the still of the night when I can’t fall asleep I am still making peace with the fact that although I will have meaningful activities in my life again I will never have another relationship as rich as ours was. I’m old and it takes more years than I have left to build that depth of trust, respect, friendship and love. Not that that fact should keep me from getting out in the world. The hermit life style might be easier, less scary than putting myself out there in the world but hermits start smelling funky after awhile. That’s not for me; I wholeheartedly want to continue supporting the soap and lotions companies.

Long holiday weekends suck. Have I mentioned that yet? Family parties and gatherings: gone and are never coming back. Mini vacations along Lake Michigan with Don: gone and are never coming back. Fun work projects around the house: bingo! Work projects can still happen with a plan. I’ve been lusting after a bottle tree. Maybe next forth of July or Labor Day I could build one. Maybe I could even venture to a spa like I’ve always wanted to do. Maybe I could paint a room or alphabetize the books in the library. Maybe I could volunteer to work at the museum or at the union's labor day parade. It doesn’t matter what I do so long as I don’t do what I’ve done this year and last....just sit around remembering holidays past. A proactive strategy for future long holidays could, would and will be a good goal for year three. Take a note, Watson, the widow has just figured out how to keep dancing forward.  ©