I Am a Widow

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a widow is defined as “a woman who has lost her husband by death and usually has not remarried.”  I am a widow. My husband, Charlie, died December 15, 2009 when our house caught fire in the middle of the night. My children, Joshua and Emma, ages 4 and 8 months, also died that night. There is no word for that, no neat little label to be assigned when a parent loses a child. And why should there be? Children are supposed to outlive their parents, it’s the natural progression of life. I have plenty to say on that subject, but back to being a widow.

I am a widow. What does this really mean? It’s not as simple as Merriam-Webster would have you believe. There are so many layers, so many emotions involved in being a widow. Emotions that no one but another widow can ever fully understand. Being a widow does not simply mean that your spouse has died. It means you have lost your soul mate.  Your other half. The one you intended to grow old with, the one you had (or planned to have) children with. It doesn’t matter whether you were married 60 minutes or 60 years, the pain is still the same. The gaping  hole that is now in your life is still the same. Being a widow means going to sleep at night in a cold, empty bed. The bed where you once laughed, loved, and made plans for the future. Being a widow means that your children no longer have a father.  Being a widow means being lonelier than you ever thought possible. The list goes on and on, this is only a fraction of what a widow goes through.  

                Before the fire, I was a wife and a mother. After the fire, I was no one. I was no longer a wife, no longer a mother. These are the two things that had defined me during my entire adulthood. I knew nothing else. So, there I was, after the fire, utterly lost. I didn’t even recognize the face in the mirror. I was a widow. Widow….I have always hated that word. It sounds so terrible, so negative. And for good reason, I suppose. It is not something that is typically associated with a 27 year old woman. Most of the widows I had encountered through the years were consumed by their husbands death. They were weighed down by their grief, and knew no happiness, knew no way out of the dark hole they had fallen into. This prospect scared me to death. I refused to let this happen to me. Yes, I missed my husband with every fiber of my being. Yes, I was miserable without him. However, my husband was so full of life, and lived every minute to its fullest, that I knew I had to pull myself out of the mire that was widowhood.

This scared me. But, I knew that I had to move forward, in order to honor my husband. I felt I would be disgracing his memory(and those of my children) if I were to let being a widow consume me. I needed to be more than a widow.  I had no idea who I was, who I wanted to be, or who I was even capable of being. I also had no idea how to go about figuring any of this out.  It was a long and difficult journey, one that I am still not finished with, and I doubt I ever will be. But with the help of my amazing friends and wonderful family, who have offered so much support and love in the last two years, I am slowly finding myself. It is possible.

I am more than a widow.  It is a part of who I am, not who I am. I am also a daughter, a sister, a cousin, and a niece. I am a florist, a photographer, a candle maker, and a student. I am a friend, a lover, and a fighter. I am a survivor. Being a widow has helped to shape me into who I am today, but I will not let it rule me. I will continue to grow and discover more of myself. One day I hope to be able to add “wife” and “mother” back to that list. I have taken control of my life, of my grief, and it has made me a better person. A stronger person.