A Widow’s Many ‘Firsts’
Submitted by Elaine Williams on January 2, 2010 – 1:03 amfter 20 years of marriage, Elaine Williams lost her husband to cancer, leaving her widowed and their three boys fatherless. She has since been examining the effects of this particular loss on her own ... more
No CommentThe left side of the bed where my husband used to sleep remained neatly made, hardly a ripple disturbing the quilted surface. I slept on the right side each night, where I had been for the twenty-plus years we were together.
I cleared away my husband’s clothes a few months after his passing, following an inexplicable but strong urge. I went through the bedroom like a whirlwind, clearing out every corner, drawer and shoe box, getting rid of anything that resembled clutter. Afterward, at night, I would lie in bed and stare into the dark, feeling the emptiness of the room, as it matched the emptiness in my heart.
When I took off my wedding ring the first time, I put it on my opposite hand. It felt strange to be on a finger where it didn’t belong, but I wasn’t sure what the protocol was. After several months, I removed the ring and put it on my dresser. Months later, I resumed wearing it on my right hand. After several more months, I removed it for the final time, wondering if my kids would notice. My youngest son remarked one day that my ring was gone, and I told him I had put it as a keepsake in my jewelry box. The last time I wore it was two-and-a-half-years after my husband’s death.
My first social event without my husband felt incredibly awkward, as if I were masquerading as someone single. My children accompanied me. I secretly considered if other people wondered about my state of mind; I’d been a widow a scant two months. Did I look happy, sad, ready to cry? Inside I felt a shaky inadequacy, as if half of me was missing and the remaining half didn’t know how to act. I didn’t want anyone’s pity, but I had this crazy notion people were feeling bad for me. I didn’ t stay long, but knew it was important that I had ventured out.
My first lunch by myself, I slipped into a diner booth feeling self-conscious. I wished I’d brought something to read so I could keep my head down. I had gone in there just to see if I could do it by myself. As I waited for my food I looked at the television showing the weather, the other patrons, some of whom I knew by sight, and out the window at the rain. My food arrived and after I ate and paid the bill, I left feeling as if I’d cleared a monumental hurdle. Ultimately, I had taken another step forward.
It sounds trivial, and yet these little steps were my daily leaps forward. Progress was measured some days by how long it had been since I’d cried. Was it silly to be driving and suddenly hear a song that made you cry? Not because it was “your” song, but because the poignant lyrics poked at something hurting inside.
My first date in twenty plus years felt as foreign as if I was cheating on my husband. How do you pick up the pieces of a life gone awry, when it feels like you’re a stranger in your own world? Where does loneliness end and desperation take over? How do you control the craving for human attention and affection? Many days I had questions and no answers.
The first wedding anniversary, birthday, holiday, Valentine’s Day and the first anniversary of his death, I told myself I was okay, that these were merely days on a calendar. I lied to myself and on bright sunny days I walked into our woods and cried. Even with the sun’s warmth on my face, I felt an emotional mess. The biggest sustaining factor in my life was my kids. I knew they needed me as they faced their own “firsts” without their father in their lives.
Gradually, time, healing and my family’s support made all the “firsts” bearable. As time progresses, I saw the hurdles I have successfully navigated – not always with perfect execution, but with overall strength and dignity. I’ve come into my own power and applaud my accomplishments big and small.
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