Eight months ago today, at 10:30am, I became a widow. Quietly. Without much fanfare or notice, I entered a club in which no one wants membership. There isn’t a handbook for navigation of this territory, except for five road signs of grief along the way, and endless ways to express those. I would like to share my experiences with these stages, so far. I’m pretty sure they will stick around in the days to come, but, I know their faces well. They have come to be accepted comrades in my widowhood.
In the first months, widow’s fog wasn’t much fun at all. Not the kind of cozy fog in which you might stay by the fire, drink hot tea, and read. A fog that leaves you forgetful and dazed. I referred to it as my months of shock. VST died so quickly, it was as if he died in a car crash. Violent and final. And yet, looking back, his illness was at work long before we chose to acknowledge it. Long before we knew what was causing his changes. By time we did know, the oncologist was telling us to go home. There was nothing that could be done. Live a best life. Eat and drink whatever tasted good. Two months, max. It turned out to be a week.
I was so lucky through those first months to have a move to keep me occupied. Many people warned against relocating within the first month of VST’s death. However, VST and I had planned this together before we knew he was sick. There was no choice except to ride that pony. With T and K’s help, that is just what I did. Looking back, even the thought of visiting VC after he was gone was impossible, let alone continuing a life there. I chose the move even against the most stern advice.
Denial hit us when VST was still alive. He went through a heavy dose before accepting that he had a serious illness. Looking back, so many symptoms were either ignored, or denied their very existence by us both. They were explained away. A rough patch in our marriage. Stress. Exhaustion. A cold. Probiotic overload. So many reasons we came up with as the cancer became more and more serious. Time wouldn’t have mattered, as he was already deep in trouble when he started to feel poorly. In some ways, it was the kindest for him, as he slipped away from me little by little, not realizing he was. I found a wee bit of respite in denying something was very, very wrong in the months before.
The only thing I ever would have bargained for was a total elimination of the disease. For that, there would have been nothing to great to give. Even my own health in exchange. But, those thoughts were replaced with the truth of the matter. It wasn’t me. It was him. Bargaining for chips worth less than our old life was not something either of us wanted. Fifty percent of the life we had wasn’t anything desired. One December day, I found myself sobbing, begging, pleading for the life we once had. Still driving, he was headed out the door for the 4th trip of the day to Reno to buy a forgotten bolt. A man that was slipping through my fingers turned to me and said, “Don’t we all, Darlin?” Little did we know in a few short months, he would be gone.
With the holidays approaching, I’m staying busy with lists and activities. Sunday, I drove on my favorite road to Bridgeport. Heading on the highway we had enjoyed so many times, I was the only car for most of the 4 1/2 hour trip. Sadness had me at many turns as I remembered things we had discussed, or just music we had enjoyed together. But, then, many memories brought smiles and thoughts of how lucky we were to have shared such beauty on our travels. Sadness and loneliness have their time with me. I’ve come to realize I need to embrace them like fellow grievers. There’s a time when those emotions are totally normal and part of the healing process. Covid has given me private time to make sure they get my attention, for to stuff them would do no good. They need to have their say in the matter so I can work towards becoming 100% again.
Anger is still at bay, maybe disguised through fumings about other situations causing grief right now. Like the pandemic and the restrictions on normal life caused by it. I still wonder what in the heck I have to be angry about, and I still come up with nothing at all. I’m grateful to a God that has helped me find my way through this nightmare. To place anger there would be pointless. To the doctors and nurses that helped VST, I am eternally grateful. Cancer is not a thing that would be affected by my anger, although I hate it with a passion. But, even through the hatred, I am grateful that its attack was swift and complete, not leaving VST to linger into a holding pattern for years. VST wouldn’t have settled for that for a second. He was too impatient. Each new day found him wanting to get moving as quickly as possible. To me, it’s no surprise he passed so quickly into the next place. It fit who he was.
Acceptance has been with me for some time now. Being a grieving wife, I KNOW he left April 8th. There are still those split seconds of denial when the mind plays such cruel tricks. I need tell VST this one funny thing. Or ask him how to air up my tires. Or tell him the latest gossip just heard. These thoughts zip through at lightning speed caught by the realist me who gives me a little mental hug while redirecting me to reality. I accept that this is how our story ended. I hate it. Totally. I wish there had been time to repair a few divets. Time to hug once more. Time to reminisce about the favorite moments in our lives together. One last walk along the shore. But then, there never would have been enough time, would there? There would always be one last thing.
Eight balloons will be released at 10:30 this morning. Not at 11:15, like his death certificate says. It lies. At 10:30, a widow 8 months. A treacherous journey. A walk through fire I would wish on no one. Beauty found on the winter side of April, something I couldn’t have expected, but, a beauty welcomed. A pride in the fact that I am here, blogging to you. 8 Months of forever. 8 Months a second old. 8 Months of Growth all mine.