You Don't Look Like a Widow

"You don't look like a widow." You'd be surprised at how often I hear that one. I'm never quite sure if I'm supposed to be flattered or offended by that statement. And what exactly does a widow look like? The answer of course is invariably the same: old. The stereotype of the lonely, little old grey haired widow. I'm so glad I got my hair done this week. While it's true the majority of widows in Canada are over the age of 65 (which really isn't old), there are in fact far more widows under the age of 65 then you may realize. And no, you'd never know to look at any of us that we are widows, it's not as if we have a capital W branded on our foreheads after all.

Cancer, war, suicide, accidents. Every single day wives become widows. We come in all ages, ethnicities and religions. Some mothers, some not. Some working, some not. Despite these differences, we are all supposed to fit in the same neat little box called widowhood. But here's the rub: widowhood is not the same for each of us. Being widowed at 43, with three teenage children is not the same as being widowed while pregnant at 24, nor is it the same as being widowed at 83. Having your husband die as a result of cancer is not the same as having your husband die suddenly in an accident. All equally tragic, all equally sad and devastating, and all different. Each widow's story is uniquely hers, and  how we grieve is also unique to each of us. And yet we are still lumped together in one widowhood box, with the same expectations of how we should grieve and when we should move on with our lives.

This may shock you (but I doubt it): I don't much like the widowhood box. I don't like being told how I'm supposed to feel and when I'm supposed to move forward (because you don't move on, you move forward) with my life. The last time I checked, I was an adult who is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. But people still do it, all of the time. At eleven months I was told it was far to early for me to start dating. Too early for whom? Not for me, and shouldn't I be the one making that decision? Ironically, I wasn't even planning a date at that point in time. But you know, just in case.

I actually knew a bit about grieving before Dan died. I'd previously lost both of my grandmothers, whom I loved dearly but their loss was not the same as the loss of my husband and the father of my children. I'd also studied grief in university (studying it and living it are two vastly different things, of course), so I was well aware of the stages of grief. Fortunately for me, I also knew the five stages of grief are bullshit. (You can read why here: No Stages of Grief.) Over the last 40 years, what was meant to be a guideline became an almost absolute. The author Elisabeth Kübler-Ross "constantly stated that the stages didn't all happen and not necessarily in order, if at all." And yet the myth of the stages of grief still persists, a myth that has caused me and many others a helluva lot of grief, for want of a better word.

Thankfully, the majority of the people in my life don't believe in the myth. They were the ones that just let me feel what I felt, they never told me how I should feel. They were the ones assuring me that life would be good again, they were always supportive, always encouraging.

But there are some who are still influenced by the myth of grief. When I made the choice to be happy, I was in denial or I was rushing my grief. When I said I wasn't angry, they assured me I would be. When I said I didn't feel guilty, they told me I would eventually. They seemed to have all of the answers and yet how could they? They're not me. I'm not sure if they are even aware of how much of an extra burden they placed on me. I certainly never told them. I should have. I went to a counselor because I began to believe there was something wrong with me: because I wasn't angry, because I didn't feel guilty, because I wanted to be happy. Think about that. Just stop for a minute and take that in. I thought there was something wrong with me because I wanted to be happy:

When you told me my life was going to be awful, you took away my hope for the future.
When you told me I must feel guilty for being happy, you implied that it was wrong for me to be happy.
When you told me what I should feel, you invalidated everything that I was feeling.

 I'm not sure who my counselor was expecting the day I sashayed into her office, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. She listened to my diatribe for about ten minutes before she raised her hand to stop me (I seriously thought she was going to yell UNCLE). "Monica there is nothing wrong with you, you are perfectly healthy." Silence. "Really? Are you sure? Because I think I might be crazy."  "You are NOT crazy" (don't worry, I was shocked too). When they talk about watershed moments, that was mine. I'm sitting there looking around her office; she has all of the right certificates on the walls, and this wasn't her first trip to the rodeo, so she clearly knows what she's talking about. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm going to be just fine. I have never felt so liberated in my life. It was as if a 40 pound rucksack had been lifted from my shoulders.

 I own my happiness. Me. It's my responsibility. Nobody else can ever make me happy, only I can do that. This may not be the life I planned, but it's my life, and it's up to me to make it a good one. I had to accept Dan was gone and never coming back. I had to let go of what should have been, and accept what is. And (this is the one I struggled with the most) it means that I have to accept there will always be those who will never truly understand my choices, and that's okay, they don't have to, it's not their life. I believe acceptance is the most important thing. When you find acceptance you will find peace. As a wise padre once told me, acceptance catapults us forward. Each of us finds that acceptance in our own time, and in our own way. Grief is as individual as a fingerprint. No two people will ever experience loss in the same way. We can never truly understand someone's loss unless we suffer a similar loss, and even then our grief will be different. We can walk the proverbial mile in some one else's shoes, but our miles will never ever be identical.

I hope you never have to walk that mile, but if you do, I'll be there offering you the hope that someday life will be good again, not perfect, but good (and it will be). And then I'll say something ridiculous to make you laugh. I can't walk that mile for you, but I'll come along if you'd like company. If you don't have the energy to put on your shoes, don't worry, you can lean on me while I help you put them on. If it's winter, I'll probably suggest you wear boots though, oddly enough snow is pretty cold on the toes. But hey, if you really want to wear sandals, I'm good with that too. After all, they're your feet. And it's your mile. It's up to you how you walk it.

Even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about it. ~Jacques Prévert

Happy Life

As most of you know, I'm a pretty positive person. I always have been. Usually my gin bottles are half full. But sometimes even I have my moments, shocking I know but very true. I have really high expectations of myself, and am my own worst critic.

Fortunately for me I have some very close friends who kick me in the ass when I need it the most, they are my go to gals when I've lost my perspective and need a healthy does of objectivity. I can always count on them to tell me straight up when I'm being too hard on myself or being a jackass. All it takes is one "Seriously Monica" or "Fuck off Bobbitt" and  I know it's time for me to put my big girl panties on and deal with whatever issue is stressing me. And by the way, I'm not kidding, she literally does say that (I love that woman). How lucky am I to have friends who tell me what I need to hear instead of what I want to hear. In fact, I can actually hear them both right now saying, "luck has nothing to do with it" (I may have had this conversation with them both before). We all need to have someone who we can count on to be totally honest with us, no matter how brutally painful that truth might be.

And then there are the others: people who hardly know me or don't know me at all that feel because I am a widow I need them to tell me what I should or shouldn't do or how I should be feeling. It is one of my biggest pet peeves. I have had people say some ridiculous things to me in the last fourteen months (I can't make this shit up). One of my personal favourites was when one of the kids' former teachers told me that she was glad I had sold my house and was moving to Nova Scotia, "You won't marry another military man there because obviously you know the odds with military men aren't good." Obviously. I guess that means I shouldn't marry a man who owns a car either because I think the odds are probably higher he'd die in a car crash then a LAV rollover, just sayin. Oh and by the way, we do have navy and air force bases in Nova Scotia but maybe they don't count?

 I have to say the latest one left me speechless, hard to believe I know but it does happen occasionally. A few weeks ago I was sick with a nasty throat virus and stopped at the drug store to restock on pain meds when I ran into an old acquaintance from university. She asked me how my summer was going and I told her the girls and I were having a great summer and we'd just had an awesome visit with our Norwegian friends. Her response to this was what left me speechless. "You must feel so guilty for being so happy with Dan being dead and all." (I'm so glad she clarified that last bit for me, you know just in case I'd forgotten).

 I'm standing in the middle of Shoppers Drug Mart (ironically on a day when I'm actually not even feeling particularly happy): my throat feels like I've swallowed a thousand shards of glass, I've haven't had solid food in almost a week and even worse have only managed to swallow two and a half cups of coffee in the same time frame, and this chick, whom I barely know is telling me I MUST feel guilty for having a good life. Seriously, are you freaking kidding me?

 Speechless and trying desperately not to cry, I did manage to answer. "Actually no, I don't feel guilty at all. In fact, I haven't felt guilty once all year." Usually I just let this shit roll off, like water off a duck's back, but not this time. I'm totally blaming it on caffeine withdrawal and hunger. I'm annoyed with myself (of course) for letting it bother me but you know what, it did bother me.

 I've thought about it a lot. In hindsight I really wish I'd told her not to be a jackass (because everyone needs someone to tell them when they are being a jackass) and to not assume she knows how someone feels unless she's walked in their shoes. What got me was the assumption that I had to feel guilty for being happy. Because I'm a widow and widowhood is obviously a life sentence to guilt and unhappiness. Evidently I missed the memo on that one.

 I've decided it's a good thing I wasn't widowed 100 years ago. If people think I'm outrageous now just imagine what they would have thought of me back then. They'd have had me locked up in an institution somewhere... Mrs. Hennessy's Home for Happy Widows. She's happy, how scandalous. Lock her up here, quickly. Dear Lord.

 Just because I'm happy doesn't mean I'm not sad. Happiness and sadness are in fact not mutually exclusive, you can be both at the same time. I know because I feel them both all of the time. I will always be sad Dan is gone but it doesn't mean I can't have a good, and yes, very happy life. Seriously he really would be the first one to kick my ass up one side of the street and down the other if I were any other way. If you knew him, you know this to be true. So thanks gals (and the jackass at Shoppers Drug Mart) for reminding me of that.

 Every day might not be good (especially when you can't swallow your coffee) but there is always something good in every day. My gin cupboard is, in fact, never empty. Amen to that.


Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. ~Abraham Lincoln