Widowhood. Six months in. I am in awe of the oldish-new woman sitting here blogging. Strange. It appears that these are my Germanic fingers pecking at the keys. Quite sure Oliver recognizes me as the same person who has fed him his meals since he became mine. The neighbors all wave to the familiar woman down the street. Old Friends and family still ring me up to find out how I’m doing. But, no, I’m not the same woman of 6 months ago. That woman died with VST and was immediately replaced with another tougher version of myself.
Unless you are a widow, and even if you are, you can’t fully know the unique path my journey has taken. In the past Covid-wrecked months, I have been on a trek through a frightful wilderness worse than any high Sierra trail. It has been so lonely and cold at times, I surely wanted to lay my body down in the snow and allow grief to devour me like savage carnivores. Having my arms torn off by real Alaskan wolves would have been less painful. So desolate and invisibly vast, no matter how I have tried to hurry along, believing I’m out of the woods, I make a small turn to the right or left, and there I am again. The path is atrociously hideous at times, and yet, totally natural. There has been no quicker way to come, no short cut, nothing more than this path that I travel by myself, even when others are present.
My words have buoyed me beyond my wildest expectations. Food, Shelter, Clothing, Friendship, Everlasting Love, Faith, Adventure, and Happiness. Those words, my port in the storm, highlight the core of the power couple that was Dr. and Mrs. Hurt. It is odd that the time has arrived to pick a new word for Month Seven. Reflecting on the words that represented us over 32 years has filled me with the comfort that beautiful memories can bring. A meadowy retreat for respite from the ravages of grief.
I revisit the past 12 months in my mind. A year ago, we had just decided to visit Cayucos on the California coast again. VST was still taking Oliver on his daily walks. We had decided to stay in VC a while longer, and just named the house The Dunmovin House for that reason. There were subtle changes in VST that I internalized as frailties of my own or, even more scary and unthinkable, of our marriage. Even if we would have known the real causes for these changes earlier, the outcome would have been the same. The only difference would have been that we would have missed our last two RV trips which held sweet memories made.
I think of Christmas last. I was sick with a cold for a week, which I so graciously gifted to VST. As we took turns caring for one another, Christmas came and went in the midst of the snow flurries on our mountain. A white Christmas for our last earthly holiday together.
With spring’s arrival, projects completed, and the last nail driven, VST finished his job. He put down his tools, being proud of his life and accomplishments. He touched so many in profoundly wonderful ways. His strength carried others through their own struggles. He loved like no other. Fierce and true. He was a loyal and trustworthy man truly worthy of being a Knight Templar. He was also a man worthy of not only the title of FATHER, but more importantly, DAD. He was imperfectly perfect to those of us that loved him longest and best, and to those that were lucky enough to call him friend. He was my Dr. H.
Through Goodbyes to VST, this new woman has now stepped out of the far reaches of my soul. Helpful. Strong. Smart. Funny. Inquisitive. And SCARED AS HELL. She came from nowhere to flourish and thrive as she put down roots immediately after VST’s death in this new little town called HOME. She is the new me. I own those attributes now, as I always did. I must admit, in recent years, I chose to rest complaisantly as a wife allowing life to pass. Along the way, I lost focus, passion, and ambition. I became a passenger in my own life story, doing that all on my own. It wasn’t especially fair to VST, although he never complained. I don’t have that option anymore. I don’t want that ME anymore. She died with VST.
Today, I choose Happiness. Faith. Strength. Perseverance. God. I am finding my way forwards. I choose not to sit and rest too long. I move onward towards positive goals for the future, creating as I continue through the wilderness of my first year of widowhood. I’m quite positive there are treacherous rivers yet to cross, with crags and crannies that could feel like they might devour my soul. But, I also know I am strong enough to stay on the path. It’s going to be okay. God and I have this, together.
As a married woman, I could have never imagined taking my wedding ring off for a minute. I’ve never been one to wear jewelry of any kind, let alone pricey stones in garish designs. My wedding band was so perfect. Simple. Comfortable. Golden. Like VST and me. Scratched through our 32 years, but still a circle. A comfort to me when VST passed, it was a reminder than the three decades shared had not been a dream, but real.
One day, in late summer, I awoke to a new feeling. I could wear this ring no longer for OUR vows were not tethered to something as earthly as a bit of gold. My ring couldn’t begin to contain something so precious, vast, and unending similar to the heavens in which my new guardian angel rested. It was band of gold that was constricting my finger and just a piece of jewelry now. I was no longer a wife, but a widow. I could wear it not a second longer. When removed, I was left with a temporarily deformed ring finger, morbidly pale and chronically constricted. The nerves were sensitive to anything that brushed across that spot on my finger screaming their protests at being exposed to widowhood. A strange sensation I was not expecting.
Six months gone, six months here, I find myself with an interest in finding friends again. I laugh with them on the phone, making plans for adventures new and foreign to me. I’m taking an interest in dressing the new woman that I am becoming. I speak in a gentler, kinder way to myself, encouraging thoughts and actions that are creating the best version of myself. I cheer for me when I am hitting things out of the park. I smile from my heart and like it. My winter has past on most days. My 65th Autumn is here, and I find myself hoping it lasts for a couple of decades, at least.
One of the last things that VST said to me in weak and quiet words was, “I want to go back to the ocean.” I think about the day I will travel to San Simeon to release him to the wind. With the final page of our story written, we’ll go their together together sharing our last and final earthly Goodbye. Today, Month Six finished, the thought is immediately shelved and encased behind glassy, tearful eyes. There is plenty of time for healing on this the first widowed year of mine.
As you read this, please cheer for me in your own way. Then, cheer for yourself and all your journey has taught you. Celebrate the love you share with important people in your life. Call them. Hug them. Laugh. Cherish the life you shared with the one you lost and travel through the wilderness of widowhood with me. Love surrounds us and we are not alone in this. We WILL come out into the clearing, and be much stronger for the journey.
