An Unwilling Widow
  • Chronicles of an Unwilling Widow

In Spirit Met Thy Well...

6/10/2015

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We chase after ghosts and spirits and are left holding only memories and dreams. It's not that we want what we can't have; it's that we've held all we could want and then had to watch it slip away.

CHARLES DE LINT


One phrase, or several similar phrases, I have heard since my husband’s death all deal particularly with my husband’s spirit.  That he is watching me, beside me, protecting me, trying to comfort me.  I know that those who tell me this really and truly believe it….and I want to believe it too.

Unfortunately, I’m just not feeling it.

I’ve tried everything to see if I could feel his presence.  Lying perfectly still, relaxing, talking to him, begging, pleading for some little sign…anything.   I’ve even given up eating olives, which I love, because someone told me that olives had a negating effect on a person’s ability to hear and see the paranormal.

Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.

At this point in time, I would give and tolerate anything to be able to commune with my husband.  I have daydreams of living like the Ghost and Mrs. Muir.  To have the ability to interact with my husband.  Talk to him, tell him about my day, my troubles.  Even as an ethereal spirit, I would be happy to be with him.

So far…nothing.

I read online about people who have felt their lost loved ones around them.  Or have seen apparitions of their loved ones.  Or have had vivid dreams about their loved ones where they speak and interact with them.

These posts make me extremely jealous.

Usually, by the time I do fall asleep, I do so in an exhausted state and rarely remember my dreams, except with a vague feeling of unease at the nightmarish taint left over. 

In true Ghost Hunter fashion, I’ve asked my husband to make a sound, a knock, a whisper…anything.  But all I’ve ever heard was the ice maker in the refrigerator.  And yes, I’ve ordered a digital recorder in the hopes that I might hear something.  It should be here in 5 – 7 business days with “free economy shipping”.

As the time gets longer and longer without my husband, I find myself clutching at anything that has any memory or association with him.  I’ll be honest, if I can’t have him here physically then I will settle for having him here spiritually.

I do believe in ghosts.  I’ve had encounters and have seen evidence that is hard to debunk.  Other people have seen or witnessed paranormal events at our house (we will never be able to use that plumber again…there are still tread marks on the pavement outside of our gate where he left in an extreme hurry).

Before my husband’s death, we would see shadows darting around, here odd little knocks and rustles.  The four legged furry brigade would all be lined up on the floor, sitting and staring at one spot, tails wagging, as if the ghost was holding a ghostly doggy snack in front of them.

I would hear my husband call my name, or he would hear me call him when neither of us did so.  Although, that part may be debunked as we do have mockingbirds and they can mimic sounds (one whistles to our outside dog constantly and drives him nuts).

One day, while I was in the laundry room at the back of the house, I heard the front door open (it has always had a distinctive squeak we never seem to get around to fixing) and my husband call out that he was home, realistic enough to the point that I answered him and told him I was in the laundry room.  A minute later my cell phone rang and it was my husband telling me that he was still in town and was delayed.

But since my husband’s death, I have seen and heard nothing.  Not even our resident ghost has made an appearance.

Sometimes I will think I see a shadow, but it is usually a bird or the cat or even the shadow of a plane flying overhead.  The four legged furry brigade haven’t sat staring in that corner even once.

I haven’t heard my name called or felt that odd feeling in the back of your neck when you suddenly know you are not alone.

It’s as if, with the passing of my husband, all of the spirits went with him.

I do have hope though.  The lady that cleans our house has felt fingers running up her back and seen people walking across the porch when no one was there.  The ghost used to play with my hair all the time.  Lifting it up, twirling it, sometimes even slightly tugging on it.  But not anymore.

Since my husband died….nothing.

I am envious of my house keeper.  I want to see the shadow and feel those ghostly fingers.  I want to feel as if someone was staring at me right this moment.  Because then I could possibly think that it was my husband and that he didn’t leave me all alone.

To be honest, I think the real reason I want proof that my husband is still here with me, is that then, I can believe that one day we will be together again.  One day we will see each other.  One day I will be complete and whole once more.

I think I could bear the current loneliness, the ache and the emptiness, if I knew that it would not always be this way.  If I knew that somewhere down the road my husband is waiting for me.

Oh, I have imagination enough to daydream about it. I can picture it a dozen ways, each as real as the next.  But I also know that wishing and having are two different things.

Sometimes, I almost think that I can feel my husband’s arms around me when I am most sad.  The ‘still believe in magic’ side of me wants to think that the feeling is real.  The ‘have seen the world’ more realistic side of me tells me it is my imagination.

Every time that someone tells me that he is with me, that he is watching, that he is right beside me, I smile and nod and say thank you.  Because who am I to dismiss what they say, what they believe.  I mean isn’t that what this all boils down to?  Faith?

Faith that there is a heaven.  Faith that loving spirits surround us.

Maybe I’m too practical.

Maybe I want too much.  After all, if my husband truly can be here with me, helping me, guiding me, then why can’t he do simple things that would be extremely helpful?  Such as telling his dog not to pee in the kitchen, or helping to housebreak the pup.  Or better yet, manipulate the lottery so I have the winning numbers.

I know I should probably take these questions to my priest, but right now I’m still mad at God and it wouldn’t be polite to go to Someone’s home when you are mad at Them.  In fact, we’ve had a new priest since and I haven’t even met him yet.  Not certain how my first impression with him would be – “Hello Father, I’m really, really pissed at God right now because my husband died and I’m starting to get pissed at my husband because he is not returning back to me as a ghost and I was wondering if you could tell me why.”

Although that would be a memorable introduction, I’m not sure if the priest wouldn’t immediately try and get me committed.  Does the Catholic Church have a mental institution?

Widowhood is made up of “I wants”.  I want my husband to still be alive.  I want this nightmare to end.  I want to be able to sleep without resorting to chemistry.  I want, I want, I want….

Widowhood is also made up of realities.  I can’t have my husband back alive.  This nightmare does not end.  I will probably be sleeping through chemistry for quite a long while.  Reality just smacks me in the face, constantly.

And that’s the main reason why I want proof of the afterlife.  I want proof that my husband’s spirit is here with me.  I want to incorporate that into my reality.  To give me a little comfort and solace while I face all of the other realities of just living and surviving on a daily basis.

As Shakespeare wrote in Henry IV Part I:

Glendower. - I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur. - Why, so can I; or so can any man:
But will they come when you do call for them ?
(1 Henry IV, 3.1)


I just want my husband to answer when I call for him.  That’s not too much to ask for, is it?

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Lost Possibilities...

6/3/2015

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“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay


 

I’m not having a good day today.

I can’t seem to stop crying and it is all because of a stupid video game.

You see, one of our favorite past times was playing a game called Fallout.  There are several versions and we had been waiting for the next version for quite a few years.  My husband and I planned to get the Xbox One console at the same time.  We had planned to stay home that weekend and just play the game together.  We had looked forward to it.  My husband even followed rumors, leaked info, websites, Facebook, twitter….you name it.  He loved “being on the hunt” as he called it. 

Today they announced that the game will be released and posted a trailer.  It is everything that my husband hoped it would be.  Except for one thing, he won’t be here to play it with me.

That brought up all of the other things that I won’t do anymore with my husband and it also brought up the question – do I continue on with our joint interests or find things that we’ve never done together.

It’s a question that a lot of widows ask themselves.  For several reasons.

One, doing an activity that you did with your spouse brings up painful memories.  Memories of enjoyment, laughter, togetherness.  How can it be as wonderful solo as it was together?  Are we setting ourselves up for disappointment?

Two, if we find that doing that activity brings us the same amount of enjoyment, what do we do with the guilt?  After all…how can we enjoy it so much without our spouse?

There are TV shows I cannot watch anymore.  Deadliest Catch, for instance.  Although I enjoyed watching it, my husband was the true fan.  Now, it’s too painful to watch alone.

Cooking shows are also designated as non-watchable.  My husband loved to cook and would rather watch the Two Fat Ladies than a Victoria Secrets special.  Alton Brown brings me to tears every time he comes on the screen.  So I studiously avoid the Food and Cooking channels.

I do try and watch some shows that we both enjoyed.  Criminal Minds, CSI, shows like that.  I still enjoy them but with an underlying sadness as I watch.

I watch most of my TV in the bedroom lying on the bed with the four footed furry brigade.  I find myself unconsciously reaching over towards my husband’s side, searching for his hand.  We used to watch TV like that a lot.  The emptiness on his side is overwhelming.

Other things are still painful.  Going to the movies.  I’ve seen a few movies since my husband’s death.  Always with friends.  But even as I watch and am enjoy it, there is still that sense that something is wrong, something is missing.

That emptiness is there constantly. No matter where I go or what I do.  No matter how much fun I’m having with my friends or family, it is still there.

Nothing fills that hole in my heart.

So I find myself trying to find new TV shows, new activities, new hobbies.  Things that will hopefully soothe the ragged edges of that hole.  Something that will ease the pain, the rawness. 

I know I will never be able to fill it or fully heal it.  I feel my tears falling into it and there aren’t enough tears in the world to even register within it.  All I can do is try and create scars over it so that it is not so overwhelming.  To help alleviate the ache.

I’ve been a part of a couple for so long, I am frantically searching on redefining myself as a single.

I’m trying to reclaim things that I did with my husband but now do alone.  It isn’t easy.  Sometimes I can’t push past the pain so I have to drop it, put it aside for just a bit, knowing that there is a chance that I will never be able to go back to it.  That part of my life may be over forever.

It’s a struggle, this whole reshaping my life.  Just as water flows along the path of least resistance, so do my thoughts.  I’ve been thinking a certain way for so long.  We instead of I.  Ours instead of mine. Trying to forge the concept of two into one.

I still speak of my husband in the present tense.  I do it automatically.  It’s only when I get strange looks do I realize that I am doing so and I correct myself.  But I really hate speaking of him in the past tense.  I don’t want to because that is one step closer to accepting his death.

One thing I am struggling with is the loneliness.  The isolation.  My husband and I didn’t have children together, so when he died, I was left to live alone.

I do have wonderful friends at the ranch where I ride and train with, and I have a wonderful family that I can call on.  But my husband was my best friend.  We did so many things together and many times it was just the two of us.

So how does a 50-something widow meet new people?  I don’t drink, I hate bars and night clubs, I work from home so I don’t even have the fellowship of co-workers.  I’m in a wheelchair with a service dog, so some places I just can’t get to or get comfortable at.

I thought of joining a grief counselling group, but to be honest, I can barely handle my own grief…I don’t have the energy to take on someone else’s and sharing grief is what those groups are all about.

I did join an online widow/widower forum.  Sometimes they are a comfort to read, but sometimes they are discouraging.  Especially when people write that their spouse died three years ago and they still fall apart about it.  I know I will never get over the death of my husband, but I would like to know that it eases up just a bit.  Especially after three years.

There is a gathering of widows and widowers that will be happening near me in July.  Everyone says it is an uplifting and positive experience, so I signed up for it.  I’m hoping that the reviews are correct. 

But in the meantime, where does someone who likes science fiction and owns a ranch and plays video games and is in her 50’s go to meet others like her?  It’s not a normal combination of hobbies.  In fact, I met my husband through a science fiction venue and he took to being a rancher and a cowboy like a duck to water, after he met me.  There aren’t many men out there like him.  Not that I’m looking for a date.  Just friends.  But even meeting women for friendship is hard.  Not too many women my age enjoy horror films, science fiction, RPG video games and spending all day in the dust and dirt playing with horses.

The fact that I live in a rural area also adds to the difficultness.   Hard to just ‘drop by’ when it means driving an extra 30 minutes just to get anywhere.

I feel like I’m stumbling around searching desperately for a lifeline.  Trying to find where I belong.  I feel lost.  A social orphan.  When I think of myself I have no concrete description of me as a single.

I’m trying to take up different hobbies.  I have an idea of making a quilt out of my husband’s shirts.  I just need to learn how to make a quilt first.  I tried crocheting, not a skillset I have a talent for.  My embroidery is bad enough to make a cat laugh.

I used to love making custom belt buckles and putting together large Lego models.  But both of those lost their appeal when I lost my husband.  Too many painful memories of working on either a buckle or a model and him coming over to give me pointers or his opinion.  It’s just not fun anymore.  So my dozens of model kits sit gathering dust.  My buckle supplies are stuffed into drawers.  I don’t think I’ll ever go back to them.

What most people don’t realize is, when you become a widow, you lose a large part of who you were.  I can’t even remember what it was like to live single.  I lost the main thing that defined me as a person.  I loved being a wife.  I loved being a part of someone.  I loved being two, instead of one. 

I don’t know who I am anymore.  I don’t know who I want to be.  I don’t know who I can be.

Each day that I fight to find me, only emphasizes the fact that I was who I wanted to be, but I can’t be that anymore.  I’m spending more time crying now than I did right after my husband died.  I’m crying for the loss of him and also the loss of me. 

Two people died that day.  One physically, the other figuratively.

I don’t have the answers to any of this.  I’m just wandering through this nightmare searching for a path to follow.  I don’t think I’m going to be able to define who I truly am, until I reconcile with the loss of who I was.  And that’s hard.

But I’ll keep trying.  I did pre-order the game and most likely will end up playing it, alone.  If it is too painful, then I’m sure I can find a niece or nephew to give it to.  I’ll keep looking for something to do, some hobby to take up those empty hours that I used to spend with my husband.

And I’ll keep looking for me…

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What God Has Joined Together...

6/2/2015

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Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us. -  Oscar Wilde

 

I got a tattoo yesterday.  In honor of my husband.  It’s beautiful, an ornate cross with a rose in full bloom.  It has his name and the words “As You Wish”.  Princess Bride fans will immediately recognize the reference.

I love my tattoo….and I hate it.

I love the tattoo itself, the composition, the detail, everything about it.  But I hate the reason I have it.

Do I regret getting it?  No.  Because I want people to see it, I want people to ask me about him, I want people to look at the Princess Bride reference so that I can tell them about what it means.

For those who are unfamiliar with The Princess Bride, I will give you a brief synopsis.

The Princess Bride is the ultimate love story.  It has pirates, evil princes, heroes, giants, vengeance and most of all – true love.  The sort of love that people pray for, strive for, hope for.  The sort of love I and my husband had…have. 

In the story, Wesley (the hero) always says “As you wish.” to Buttercup (the princess) when she orders him about.  After a while she realizes that he is in love with her and she is in love with him.  She learns that each time he said, “As you wish.”  He was really saying “I love you.”

Theirs is a love that has no bounds.  It is that magical feeling of being whole when you are together.

You should rent the movie.

The Princess Bride was one of my husband’s favorite movies and when I would ask him to do something, he would turn to me with a twinkle in his eye, smile and say, “As you wish.”  I knew that he was really saying and I still remember the warmth and love I felt when he said that to me.

So when people who are unfamiliar with the story ask me about my tattoo, I can tell them about a love story that surpassed even the greatest love story ever told.  My story.

Just as in the story itself, everything wasn’t always perfect.  We had disagreements, we even had one or two fights.  But they never lasted more than an hour or so and were extremely rare.  And no matter how angry we were at each other, we were always very careful of what we said.  Neither of us wanted to say something in anger that was used only to score a point or hurt each other.

I know that many are skeptical when I say this.  They may think that I am glossing over any of the bad moments, or exaggerating or white washing our relationship to make it seem idealistic.  But those who know us, would agree with my recollections.  Those who know us could see how much we were perfect for each other.

Because I honestly cannot remember the last time we had a fight.  Instead, I have countless memories of love, togetherness.  Feeling safe when I would lean against him and he would put his arm around me.  Feeling secure that together we could overcome any obstacle, like in the Princess Bride.

I’m lucky that when I look back on my marriage, on those wonderful days, I can look back with love.  What I remember is a love story.  Best friends, lovers, partners.  I had not realized how empty I was until I met my husband.  Together we made a whole.  We fit together perfectly.

Even now, while writing this, I can feel the deep love I have for my husband.  I can feel the warmth of his deep love he had for me.  Even death could not take that away.  I want people to know how wonderful my life was with him.  How much I miss him.  How much I love him.

That is why I got my tattoo.  So when people see it and ask what it means.   I can simply say – “Let me tell you about the greatest love story of all.  My story of true love.”

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    Author

    Beth is an ordinary woman who has found herself to be in an un-ordinary situation.  She wanted to chronicle the journey of widowhood for others who happen to find themselves on the same path.  The good and the bad.

    Past Posts

    All
    01/15/16 Tomorrow's Reality...
    01/27/16 One Year
    02/10/15 What Is A Widow
    02/11/15 On Becoming A Widow...
    02/12/15 Bubble Bubble Toil And...
    02/13/15 On A Pale Horse...
    02/17/15 A Single Cup Of Coffee...
    02/18/15 With Mirth And Laughter...
    02/19/15 Blunt Not The Heart...
    02/20/15 Of Mice And Men...
    02/23/15 To Lay To Rest...
    02/24/15 Sounds Of Silence...
    02/27/15 Partnership Of One...
    03/02/15 O Happy Dagger!
    03/03/15 Perish The Thought...
    03/04/15 We Are Time's Subjects...
    03/06/15 What's In A Name...
    03/09/15 A Bad Interpretation...
    03/11/15 The Fickleness Of Feelings...
    03/12/15 Creatures Great And Small...
    03/19/15 But Thinking Makes It So...
    03/25/15 As Time Goes By...
    04/02/15 More Things In Heaven And Earth...
    04/13/15 The Quality Of Strength...
    04/21/15 Right Inside My Heart...
    04/27/16 Never Simple...
    04/29/15 With Great Love...
    05/01/17 What Do You Know Of Fear?
    05/09/16 The Folly Of Anger...
    05/11/15 A Walking Shadow...
    05/21/15 A Birthday Wish...
    05/30/2015 The World-Wearied Flesh...
    06/02/2015 What God Has Joined Together...
    06/03/15 Lost Possibilities...
    06/10/15 In Spirit Met Thy Well...
    07/16/15 A Broken Unbroken Circle...
    07/28/15 A Love So Strong...
    08/05/15 A Sparrow's Fall...

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