I am living between wife and widow. Swaying towards the past, leaning into the future, trying to find my balance in the middle without a terrible fall. Rather like that childhood toy, the punching clown. If you have kids as old as mine, they might have had a similar toy when they were toddlers. A four-foot blow-up clown with a weighted bottom. Toddlers loved to punch the nose and send it flying backward, only for it to return and knock them down, resulting in giggles and “Do it again.”
I hate clowns. Grief is the worst of all. White-faced, exaggerated emotions, overly decorated to be one thing at all times, clowns can be any living thing underneath. Evil. Sad. Compromising. Denying. Angry. Bargaining. Depressed. Any real feelings might even be noticeable through the makeup, but the outward illusion dominates others’ focus. Anything at all can be painted on the outside. With clowns, you never know what you are going to get once inside. Just like grief. I REALLY hate clowns. Not to be trusted.
This Halloween, you won’t find me in the costume of a clown. Even though I feel like a clown toy as I bob and sway, my center is happiness. These days, I am anchored there most of the time. A gust of memories might blow me back a bit, but resilience helps me return to center. There are fewer times that memories of being the wife I am no longer disturb my peace. There are more times when the terror of aging widowhood sneaks up on me. I cannot let the old woman in.
We all have experienced it. A surprise visit from mother or grandmother in the mirror. It’s shocking to say the least. In my bathroom, I have a picture taken when VST and I had been married for a moment. This girl. Beautiful. In blue lace, with bluer eyes. A sweet girl in love, apparent in the expression she had for her VST photographer. The prettiest of pictures, that one is the one I think of as me. The reality is, those days are gone. The old woman has a foot hold and is setting up shop.
I never knew so many things could sink and sag at once. Grief has accelerated the process. New clothes, a bit of walking, staying busy, finding happiness, these things have all helped. But the truth of the matter is, I need to embrace the fact that I am of Medicare age. Signed up and waiting for December 16th, when I will be a part of that new system. I think the most similar experience for me was going into school as a kindergartner. A milestone in life. Now, I find myself a full-fledged, card-carrying, senior citizen.
Willie Nelson asked a great question. How old would you be if you didn’t know the day you were born? Some days, my answer would be 120. Other days 12. But his question made me realize that most days I would not say 65. My average would be somewhere in the mid-forties to fifties. Happy years that were so incredibly busy and full of careers, projects, and love.
The old woman at the door. I cannot let her rob me of my right to choose how I feel by pasting a number on my forehead. Life shouldn’t be defined by passing years. The moment doesn’t depend on a number, but on choices, opportunities, and experiences.
The kids, who are adults, came to help me on the 8th of October. They helped me make that day a beautiful celebration of 6 months of survival as a widow. They helped me make it a beautiful day of honoring their dad, 6 months an angel. We decided to decorate for Halloween. One of the things I selected was a paper which, obviously, flew into my door. Her flattened body can only be seen from the back, and she is hanging on my door. She has a new meaning. That is the old woman. Tried to get in. Smashed flat as a pancake on my door. Sorry, honey, the old woman needs to stay away for now.
This ageless woman has things to do. Words to write. A book to sell. She needs to see Hawaii about 50 more times. And go to Paris for the weekend, just once. She needs to love again. She needs to keep laughing and embrace life. There is no time for hours rocking away the day while wallowing somewhere between wife and widow. She needs to find the next in between. That place between Widow and Woman. Happiness is there. I know because I am spending days there. Sorry, Old Woman, there’s no time for you right now.