As a wife I was a partner. I was part of the discussion. I was listened to and could listen for his ideas. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I was part of a couple. I was part of “we”. I had someone I could call mine and I knew I was his. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had a travelling partner. Someone to fly with, ride with, cruise with, take a picture with, sit with, check-in with, share a memory with. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to talk to. First thing in the morning. Throughout the day. And most of all at the end of the day. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone in my bed. Someone to keep me warm. Someone to feel safe with. Someone to hold hands with. Someone to fill up the empty places. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone who loved me, who knew me, who grew up with me. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I sometimes looked forward to having a day by myself. Some time alone. Now that’s all I have. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to plan with. For trips and projects and finances and the future. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to share my triumphs. A few pounds lost. A milestone with the kids. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to share my failures. An embarrassing mistake. A hurt. A struggle. The death of someone close. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had a dinner companion.   Table for 2 or 4 or 6. Never worried about being the odd man out. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to look out for me. Always checking in to be sure I was OK. Taking care of me. Being sure I had everything I needed. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to care for. Someone to dote on, to take pleasure in taking care of. Someone I could please by making him comfortable. I don’t want to be a widow.

As a wife I had someone to call me dear. To smile lovingly at me. To be comfortable with just by being in the same room. I don’t want to be a widow.

I wrote these words a few months ago.  They are still true.  I don’t want to be a widow.  But I am.

I still miss all those things, though most of the time the pain is a dull ache rather than sharp and piercing.  I still have unanswered questions, but I don’t ask them as often as I once did.  I still cry, but sometimes it doesn’t show up in tears on my face.  The world goes on with seasons and milestones.  Births and deaths, celebrations and sadness, good health and bad.

I’m learning that society has certain expectations of widows, much like there are expectations of wives.  Expectations of how I should behave, where I should go and when, even what I should wear and look like.  Some expectations don’t really bother me and others seems to bump up against me pretty hard.

I know it’s cliché, but I wish for those around me, couples in particular, to love each other fully each day.  I thought that every married couple had what Michael and I had.  That “I wouldn’t rather be with anybody else” kind of love.  But I’ve learned that isn’t the case.  Figure out what it takes to make that person the major moving force in your life together and hang on to that.  Don’t let it slip away lest you don’t have the chance to get it back.

Thanks for following along.