10 Years a Widow

For 10 years I’ve slept alone on my side of the bed. That’s the muscle memory of a 20 year marriage.

I’ve bought and sold houses, appliances and cars. I’ve seen our children through surgeries, driver’s tests, graduations, colleges, adulthood, marriage and grandchildren.

There have been so many disappointments and just as many or more accomplishments and I still curse your name every time I have to do something inexplicably hard alone. I imagine you still get God approved glimpses into our lives but I am no longer aware of your presence. I also imagine you think our life has played out in a way that confirms you made the right decision. You did not.

I am both hardened and softer from our trauma. I’m more open and closed. I value peace and nature over society and trends. I’m weary of explaining my story and still very much aware that when I am introduced in my community I am shaking hands with someone whose already been briefed on the back story.

I’ve been lauded and praised for our family’s perseverance and grace by those who “can only imagine”. But all of the good and hard and tenacity and moving forward is only one human moment / personal shortcoming / misunderstood decision away from being erased.

There are people who’ve only known me as a widow. They never knew me as belonging to you; never as Ritchie and Corey. I am everything that they perceive me to be, but that’s not all I am. I am more and I am less.

While grief never leaves there seems to be a reawakening as I brace for a decade-long anniversary and the changing of the seasons has triggered it.