I am still spending time each day thinking about my husband and missing him. I miss our conversations and his anecdotes and jokes - even the jokes he could only say to me - that were so bad or naughty that you had to laugh at how bad or inappropriate they were. I miss being one half of a whole marriage with someone who loved me unconditionally. I am annoyed at myself for not doing more to acknowledge him when he would tell me how I would likely feel after he was gone. He lost close family (I have not) and he was trying to prepare me for the loss and grief. At the time, I didn't want him to worry about how I would feel afterwards, assured him I would find a way through, and in all honesty, I didn't want to talk about it. But now it brings me comfort that he cared about me so much that he wanted me to help mentally prepare me. Love shows itself in the strangest ways I guess. And he was right. Just like he told me he would be.
The title widow to me implies I am alone, lonely, grieving, not up for a laugh, overly sensitive, and perhaps unapproachable. I don't like the idea of a relationship status that diminishes me in any way. I successfully completed a marriage of over 20 years. The marriage ended but not by choice. (No matter how long you've been married / fully committed your partner, please realize successful commitment is a HUGE achievement and it doesn't get celebrated after the fact.) Yes I feel lonely often enough, though I also feel that our years together meant something special and helped me to get to this place. There is still life out there. Plenty of life to have a rainbow of emotions about. I think about what he would want and have conversations with my (now adult) children about topics he used to take charge of. A bit like being both mum and dad. I offer what I think his perspective would have been, then my own perspective. I carry him in my heart, though it hurts that he is not right here, sharing the experiences with me.
I am also aware that I need to continue moving forward. Even though the admin relating to my husband is virtually complete, my life will continue to evolve as I find new patterns that work for me. I am still Mrs on a lot of my correspondence but for anything new, I use Ms where I can. On New Year's Eve, a young man asked me if I was single. I pointed out that I was not in his age bracket and It turned out he wanted to set me up with someone else I'm already friends with. At the time I found the question "Are you single" so shocking that my mind was racing. Of course I don't want to lie - why should I lie? But I really wasn't ready to be asked that question by a stranger. Since then I've been thinking a lot about what it might be like to be in a new relationship. The most annoying thing is that whoever I meet won't be the man I already loved and lost. Unless I decide to be single for the rest of my life I'm going to have to accept that I need to let someone new into my life. That means going through the effort of getting to know someone from scratch in my mid-40s and working out whether there is potential for a new relationship or not. For me, it is a daunting task. I haven't dated in over 2 decades, since before social media even existed, never mind those dating apps (ick?). And then, am I even ready for that? Then I thought, if I waited 5 years to start looking for a new potential partner, then it is 5 years less of my life that I would have with someone else, so why would I do that? I am suddenly aware of single men in my workplace but for my own personal values, they are off-limits. I respect my colleagues as good friends, and moreover, I don't want to get myself into a Bridget Jones situation.
To the people who don't understand what I've been through, I'd prefer to identify myself as single rather than widow because of what I feel the term implies. Or maybe my relationship status should be "married to a ghost" (sounds friendlier than widow). Finally today, I updated my facebook relationship status. There were no write in options, so I removed my relationship status altogether. My facebook timeline explains what happened anyway.
At first when telling people what happened to my husband, I would summarize the whole thing from finding out about the GBM4 tumor, to treatment and the sharp decline in the last few weeks of his life. It is alot for anyone to take in. Especially if they're not familiar with cancer or lost anyone close. Now I feel less of a need to explain everything. I am confident to say that he sadly passed. He was diagnosed with a brain tumor, which was debulked, but was always known it would be incurable which is awful, but it's OK. (OK meaning yes it was a flippin horrendous year - the worst year of our lives and I'm still sad but I don't need you to try to find any words of comfort for me.)
I finally went on my first holiday - a short break to hot and sunny land. For the kids, I had tried to get our calendars to line up to holiday together and it still hasn't happened - so a good friend suggested I book myself a flight and, hotel room and join their group abroad. I have just come back from the short break and I feel better for the experience. The hotel room was beautiful and had a balcony with table/chairs and an ash tray that my husband would have absolutely loved - a cigarette and a coffee. (I don't smoke, it's a bad habit - but I even miss him smoking sometimes.) I missed him when I was alone in my room but still appreciated the whole experience as best I could. Each day I met my group of friends and we ate, drank and saw some great sights. Thank goodness for good friends. I found out the singles scene in hot and sunny land is not for me and I remain true to myself. It surprises me how some people open up about their own loss when I mention that my husband passed. I met a remarkable woman who lost her husband. After herself being diagnosed with MS, she cared for her husband with locked-in-syndrome for years before he passed. A kindred spirit - I was grateful for her insight. It is good to be home and even though I've got alot on my mind, I'm hopeful about building a bright future.
