It feels funny rolling off my tongue, foreign, like I am speaking about someone else. When I think of a widow I see a sad woman who has lost the love of her life and she is sad past sad and you want to offer her comfort, be there for her while she learns being alone.
But I am not that sort of widow, I am not in tears, I am not wringing my hands wondering what I am going to do now. I am actually finding joy in cleaning my house (except for the awful cold, flu whatever I have had for a week now) but I walk in my kitchen now and it looks good, still needs much work but it feels like mine.
I am having “moments” 17 years is a long time to live with a man, you get used to his movement around the house, his stories he shares, the few memories that are good that you find you remember better than the bad ones.
I have been afraid for a while now that I would panic, that I would fall to pieces when he died, all the crap that goes along with death, and watching him die, but somehow except for one day, the day after he died, I am doing okay, I am sleeping in my home, with just the front bathrooms light casting a faint glow in my bedroom and I am not afraid.
I have stopped paying on our BofA cards and when they call I talk to them I tell them my husband has passed away and I have one check and that 4 credit cards between us with them need to be reworked, hoping to save at least $10,000 by being honest but if push comes to shove bankruptcy is an option and you know what, I am still not afraid.
I have been fearful all my life of being poor, of not having anything but they can't take my home, my trucks are paid for and I am okay.
I find it weird, since the husband had not really walked or left the house in 6 months, that when my son comes in late at night and walks down the hall I think it is the husband, only for a second but still I guess memories run deep.
I find the paperwork time consuming and I think I may talk to a lawyer to see how to handle the social security, union and life insurance but I find I am somehow up to that.
If my husband has taught me anything it is how to survive, how to take care of myself and those around me. I guess I should thank him for that…
I have do have one burning question, when is it appropriate to take off the ring?
I go to pick his ashes up Wednesday and his daughter will take them along with the brass urn I purchased that was perfectly done for his children, his mother, his family, the one with the Celtic cross on the front for the one we all wear around our necks until our Navy son comes home safe, and then, maybe then once his urn and his ashes are finally in their new home, maybe then I will finally take off this ring.