Dear widow police, I’m not giving back my widow membership card.
Almost six years ago, I became a member of one of the most unfortunate clubs imaginable. On October 9, 2009, I transitioned from being half of the dynamic duo of M & J, Mrs. Jamie Thompson, and the loving partner of Michael Thompson, to standing alone as a widow. No thanks. Keep your card; at 36, with a 1- and nearly 3-year-old at home, my life was just beginning. I didn’t choose this membership, and frankly, it’s a terrible club, so return my husband instead—please!
It took me some time to accept that I was now part of this grim organization, and no amount of pleading, crying, or anger could change the reality. I am a widow.
The Early Days of Widowhood
In my early days of widowhood, I faced unimaginable experiences. I had to choose which of Michael’s organs could be donated to save others. I systematically reviewed his corneas, skin, and more, dissecting my best friend in cold detail—all for a stranger from the donation center over the phone.
I sat with my almost 3-year-old daughter, reading from a script I carefully created to explain her father’s plane crash. I chose each word meticulously, aiming to shield her from further pain; she had enough to bear.
That night, after a bath and bedtime story, I watched myself float above our lives, detached from the harsh reality of our situation. I was in shock, numb to the pain that would eventually catch up with me.
I wrote and delivered his eulogy, visited the crash site, inhaled the lingering scent of charred debris, and scattered his ashes in places he loved. I comforted his mother through her tears, while I was advised against saying goodbye in person, fearing the trauma it might bring. It’s tough to let go without a proper farewell to the one you cherish most.
I read the police reports, the NTSB findings, and stared at the envelope containing his autopsy report. To this day, I haven’t opened it, fearing the heartbreak it would unleash. For months, I lay in bed with the lights on, unable to truly sleep, grappling with an emptiness no one else could fill.
I continued to raise our children, embodying both mom and dad, trying to compensate for the lifetime impact of loss on their young lives. I faced harsh judgments from those I once held dear and found myself outside the social circles we had enjoyed.
Finding Resilience
I could recount endless stories of my widowhood, each more painful than the last. Perhaps I’ll detail them in my upcoming book, as they are woven into the fabric of my being. Unquestionably, I am a widow.
Yet, I also discovered that fellow members of this unfortunate club are some of the most resilient people you could meet. They’ve endured suffering and emerged with newfound beauty and strength. Grief imparts valuable lessons: perspective, patience, love, compassion, acceptance, and appreciation for the present. It’s one of life’s toughest teachers, but I wouldn’t wish my pain on anyone, even though I’d share my insights with the world.
Over time, I learned to accept my membership in this unfortunate club. Widowhood hasn’t defined me, but it has significantly influenced who I’ve become. I’ve forged priceless friendships with those who see life through similar lenses. My priorities and goals have shifted, and I’ve transformed.
Embracing Change
I’ve cried, laughed, learned, and evolved as a person and a widow. And yes, I’ve remarried.
Crickets Wait! What? You’ve remarried? Hand over your widow card; you’re not one of us anymore! Forget your experiences, your ongoing grief, and the memories that shaped you. Your relationship status now dictates your identity, and your love for one man must erase your love for another.
Let’s pause right here. I may not identify as a widow in the conventional sense; I’m married. My husband’s name is Kevin, and I proudly hyphenate my last name to Thompson. I chose to pursue happiness in my remaining days, to share my life and lessons with another. This decision isn’t always simple, but it’s mine.
I am Kevin’s wife. I am Michael’s widow.
One identity does not negate the other. I can love my current husband while still holding space for my past. When people ask if I ever stop missing Michael, the answer is straightforward: No. I never stop missing him or thinking of him.
People can’t be replaced. Each love is unique, and I believe that true love expands your capacity for more love in life, even if a void remains.
So, I will not revoke my widow card. I refuse to yield to those who demand I stop identifying as a widow. I won’t bow to narrow perceptions of love and grief.
Life is messy. Love is messy. Death is incredibly messy. I wasn’t put on this earth to fit into anyone’s mold or to ease their discomfort with my existence. I am a wife. I am a widow. I am a beautifully complex individual who has loved, lost, grieved, grown, and thrived. I’ve paid the ultimate price to discover who I am.
Resources for Navigating Grief
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Summary
This piece emphasizes the complexity of widowhood, illustrating the author’s journey of grief, love, and resilience after losing her husband. It highlights the ongoing duality of being both a widow and a wife, challenging societal expectations and perceptions about loss and identity. The narrative serves as a testament to the enduring nature of love and personal growth amidst life’s challenges.
Keyphrase: widow membership card
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