For me, my steps forward into healing began the day that I accepted I am a widow.
It's who I am.
It's what I do.
There is nothing that will EVER change that.
No matter where I am, no matter what I do, no matter who I am with - I am a widow.
Time will not change it.
Location will not change it.
Neither will a job, a home, or anything - nor anyone - else.
I am a widow.
That may sound like defeat, or even morbid, to some.
But once I accepted that - I took a deep and long breath.
And I was able to look into my forward motions.
Accepting being a widow, to me, was much like accepting the weather.
Here in Texas there is an old saying, "If you don't like the weather, stick around for 5 minutes - it'll change", but also, "Can't change it, might as well accept it".
Both apply to my life as a widow.
I can't change being a widow.
But the road I am on as a widow?
Oh, it changes from moment to moment.
Sometimes laughter.
Sometimes a soft tear.
Sometimes tears that burn blisters on my heart and soul.
Sometimes a groan.
Sometimes a memory.
Sometimes a smell, or a noise.
Sometimes . . . well, there are at least a thousand different "sometimes".
Yes, I am a Momma, a Mother-in-law, a Grannee, and a Great-Grannee.
I am a family member - Aunt, cousin, niece, in-law.
I am a friend - at least I hope I am counted as one by others.
I am a hard worker.
I am a writer.
I am a reader.
I am a hundred different hats to wear - depending on the day, the time, the situation.
But - in all of this - I AM A WIDOW.
In those years of being married to Rick, I was his WIFE.
No matter where we were, or whether we were together or not.
No matter what either, or both, of us were doing.
No matter who else we might be spending time with.
Nothing changed the fact that I was Rick's WIFE.
Now, just as surely - nothing changes that I am his widow.
With my final breath, I will be Rick's widow.
The moment I came to this realization, I screamed all over again.
I cried a river of tears.
I stomped the foot.
I beat the air with my fists.
I cursed.
It was a horribly ugly meltdown of epic proportions - even more so than when he first died.
But then, I got up, I washed my face in cold water.
And I took that long deep breath.
The stress of fighting against it - was gone.
Melted away with my meltdown.
I had fought against being a widow for so long - from the moment he died . . . 5 long years.
Going from place to place, trying this job, that location.
Spending money to ease the pain and emptiness.
Losing weight.
Not eating enough.
Gaining weight.
Eating too much, not enough activity.
And a hundred other things.
Yet, everywhere - no matter what - being a widow haunted and tormented me.
Louis L'Amour said in one of his books - "If you fight the desert, you will lose, you will die. But, if you learn to live WITH the desert, then live you will."
For me at least, it applies to being a widow.
And so far, these last 4 years have proven to me that I can do this . . . even through the cycles of tears and fears.
There are cycles of weather too - sunshine and clouds, rain and heat, tornadoes, refreshing thunderstorms, etc. . . . they come - and they go.
I'm learning, so does the intense grief.
The grief monster that lives with me has been tamed more than I thought it ever could, or would, be.
When that monster comes to visit, it is not a friend to be welcomed.
But no longer is it an enemy to be fought against either.
It seems to have its own mind and timing.
Mostly poor choices, lol.
It doesn't stay as long these days - even when the visit is intense and excruciatingly painful.
It retreats more quickly.
And I am learning to live with that.
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