Widowhood: In The Beginning

In the weeks following my husband's death, 

as I spiraled and swam in the jello of the life it was becoming, 

I found refuge going to a bookstore.

I was a "widow".I didn't know what that meant.

I was no longer "married"; I still felt  joined together.

Some said I'd remarry quickly; I was still "young enough".

Others understood my marriage was for life . . . and beyond.

My "other half" was gone, never to return.

Engagement ring and wedding ring on my finger;

I seldom took them off when we were together.

Now apart, they kept him close and in my heart.

How did others live during this time? What did they do? 

How did they go through the days, the nights, 

The time from ... here.....to.....there?

Books had always been a major refuge.

A ways and means to move into and through various times in life.

Most of my life I couldn't afford to buy books.

I discovered very early the wonderful world of the Public Library.
As deep into books as some kids are into video games.

Magazines, periodicals of all types 

beckoned me to open them, learn about history, science, 

the world in general, and people in particular.

I loved to read. I devoured the classics,  SciFi writers like Bradbury and Asimov. The fantasies and deeper, more life challenging, and thought provoking writings of Madeline L'Engle and others .

At thirteen I'd read many of Tolstoy's works including War and Peace and Anna Karanina. I was the girl walking home from the library with as many books as she could carry. 

Reader: This was a time when many books were still "banned":

 there were age limits on what anyone under 18 could read.

My world was small in my first two decades; my time was vast. 
Moving as much as we did, friends came and went. 

"We" met at College, over a Ping Pong table. 

Enjoyed the occasional dances held on weekends, 

Dropped by during and after classes to have "conversations".  

It was on campus but created a different world 

for those who could not/did not "pledge" a Greek Social group.

We were the kids who had to go every semester to "Convocations" Turn in tickets with your name on it. Specific amount every semester.

Try to get that past a College student today! 

Near the end of my Sophomore year, there was a very rare demonstration on campus for  "equal rights".

 Kids were being "escorted" away and any who "protested" found themselves a guest of the local sheriff and their father was called to come and get them no matter how far away.

I depended on a small scholarship and knew my Mom couldn't come to get me, we didn't have a car. No matter how I thought or felt, I had to keep walking, go to class and . . . wait for the passing of time.

Knew I had to "aim higher" and even "beyond the ordinary". 

I changed my major to Business and then Marketing Management. 

In a graduation class of over a thousand getting Business degrees, there were twelve women who chose this more challenging road.

Remember one classmate, grades in every other subject gave her a 3.5 average, one of the top students in the class. A male teacher refused to give her anything higher than a "C" -- because she was a woman. 

I had my own "encounters" as I moved from the campus into the world.

Interviewed , by the person responsible for hiring, the man told me:

"You have great qualifications, but I want a man for the position."

We, the Baby Boomer women of this time, struggled for decades to gain the rights our daughters and grand-daughters now have.

 

When you "look down on" those "advanced in age" consider if the women of those days had given up, given in and just took what they could get, where you would be today.

College made possible by a small scholarship from a local car dealership still in business today led by another generation.

 It was the "keys to the kingdom" and would help me with tuition and books for the first two years. 

Working every chance I had and saving, I was able to make it to the "goal" -- the coveted BS degree.

Being away from my Mom, my "rock" and the one person I had who was constant in my life, was challenging. 

I often found a way home from the not so far away college campus on weekends feeling the separation even though I was very involved in this "new life".

I met my husband at college. It was at a center on campus that had a Ping Pong table and I was learning and loving this sport where two or four could use both mental and physical abilities.

He was from an area close to where I lived, had a car and drove back to see his parents and his youngest sibling almost every weekend. 

It was early in our "relationship". I went along for the ride each time he drove "home". Looking back, from the beginning of our relationship we both had close ties to family; it was part of the "building blocks" of a relationship surviving being apart.

I still marvel at how he was able to get four people's weekend luggage into a really small car. Over the years we shared together I continued to be surprised by his capabilities and how our interests, our abilities, complimented one another and built our life together.

First Semester ended. Home for the holidays. We shared time with his family and with my Mom. Then, life changed, as suddenly as it would as we moved through our lives together. 

I remember opening the door to our apartment and seeing Mom  sitting by the phone with tears in her eyes and a handkerchief to wipe them away. Mom seldom cried. Throughout the long challenges she faced as a Divorcee I can't remember seeing her cry.

She told me my Dad had died. 

Although my Mom and Dad had been divorced for several years, we tried to keep where we lived private because he would get drunk and stand outside where Mom worked or where we lived, call her horrible names or try to get her to "come back to him".

I had reconnected with my father's family. "Grown Up" me still longed for the "Dad', the "Father", who didn't just call you "cute' names when he was sober. Those times became less and less the older I became, the more the "alcohol addiction" took over mind and body.

I wanted life to be different. A family. That's what we should have been. Together. But not living with the abuse Dad could not control.

I visited  him when I was told he was very sick and in a VA hospital. Cancer. Of the lung. Heavy smoker and heavy drinker do not make for a long life. 

He was thirteen years older than my Mom; he'd served in WWI, possibly a reason for the alcoholism-- what he saw, what he experienced. 

They were conscripting men who were much older during WWII, Mom was "older", no idea if she was trying to "help" him by getting married and soon became pregnant with me, believe she cared about him, loved him, just couldn't accept his "sickness".

Mom was a divorcee when her marriage to Dad ended. 

Another title in life that carries a list of society's tags. Was she also a "widow"? In her heart I believe she was because through it all I know she loved him, cared about him and truly wished he would change. 

She'd married for life, I believe. 

She could have remarried although at the time being into her 40's it was not nearly as common as today. As she said, "I know what I have now; don't want to walk that path again."

Widowhood. How do you wear this "new" identity? 

 To wear or not wear your wedding rings. 

To become "Ms" instead of "Mrs" was not a choice "back then".

To catch the glance of women you know as they hold on tighter to the arms of their husbands, out of concern you might have something "catching" that might enter into their lives. I saw them, the way they looked at my Mom.

After all, if they don't take precautions by holding on tightly to what they have, they might become like you..... 

Hurricanes and rainbows.  

Torrential rains and bright, clear, sunshine. 

Chaos and peace.

Advice. Always more advice on areas of life. 

Other people who know so much more than you.

Widowhood somehow makes a woman less competent -- if she was ever viewed as truly being capable, that is.

As always my life focus, I went to a bookstore believing I'd find books written on "being a widow" as though it was a profession or hobby one would write about.

Deep down I'm sure I was losing my life balance and looking for something to hang on to, to support me and to give me insight into where I was going, in what directions I might be traveling.

If it was only that simple. Like baking a cake, fixing a piece of equipment or going to school -- direction, guideance, focus from those who have "gone before" and prepare you for what's to come.

What I found?  Being a Widow comes with either a capital "W" or a lower case "w". It is the major part of your life or a constant part.

Widowhood isn't a popular subject.  

After all....who wants to write about endings......