Why I love being a widow

Wonderful women - All widows - All living life
Truly some of the best spirits I've been blessed with knowing. 

Why I love being a widow

It probably sounds morbid and crass
insensitive or uncouth to say,
but it is my story: “I love being a widow”.

I am lucky
I have found myself while still young
through primal and fundamental loss.
Loss of a husband at 25.

I do not like who I was before
before loss, before widow.
Turns out, Love isn’t enough
when mental illness is involved.

I was defining our relationship with negativity:
secrecy, isolation, guilt
short tempered, impatient, embarrassed
I missed the beauty
of what time we had left.

I “motivated” him with anger and intolerance.
Success and reprieve eluded him
the doctors were wrong,
nothing could bring back the boy I fell in love with
or the man he was trying to be.

Only substance offered moments of silence,
the last drops of a compressed can quieting the persistent chatter
that existed in the empty house.

Comfort wasn’t found in my arms,
the arms of his wife.
Only disapproval and hope for the future.

There was no future,
I wish I had loved
instead of trying to fix what couldn’t be.

After loss
I found myself.
No longer hiding
in the faults of others.
Bare and broken,
grieving and without purpose:
I chose to get back up

It was obvious that something was missing
something fundamental.
My life before had purpose,
but it was missing love and acceptance.  

I cannot control the darkness in others
I try not to try.
To do what I can to accept and love
in the moment.
Moments are all that is left
when our loved ones are only memories.

Weakness makes us human
acceptance of weakness makes us humble,
Humility allows us to ask for help
Asking for and receiving help is the pure beauty in this world.

Why do I love being a widow?
These words that I have written,
they did not belong to me two years ago.
I lived in fear of the inevitable
I lost my chance to love.

Now:
Now I love, Now I accept
I accept fear,
I love the inevitable darkness

When you hide from the darkness,
the demons only grow.
Standing in line like angry travelers at customs.
They are waiting for you to acknowledge them
to stamp their passport and invite them in.

You leave them in line,
they grow:
angrier, harrier and far more foul smelling.
Tempers flare and they stomp their feet.

Only once you have invited them in
Brought them tea and cookies and asked
“what business do you have here?”
Then you are loving your demon,
showing it respect. Giving it validation.
It is always there for a reason.

Only then are you open,
open to the universe and open enough to let the demons pass through.
And leave you in peace.

I love my demons,
I love myself,
I love the raw beauty of widowhood
and the opportunity to continue to love and accept others during their rawest time.

*Previously featured at http://www.griefproject.org/stories-list