Who Am I?

In the weeks leading up to January 13th, the third anniversary of Chris’s death, I found myself having slightly less of a pity party than I have in the past. I don’t want to diminish the heartbreak that I experience at the reality of losing Chris. It’s just that I seemed to be less focused on the intense pain of my situation this year and more on the process I have undergone since his death. Instead of focusing on why I am a widow, I reflected on who I have become as a widow.

At 5:00 p.m. on the night Chris went to the ER, I was a mom who was feeling overwhelmed that I was about to have two babies under the age of two. I was feeling alone because Chris, who had been an extremely involved dad in the past, was gradually becoming less hands on. His excitement about a new baby coming also seemed to wane and I was hurt at what I thought was his indifference. In fact, earlier in the day, I had a teary conversation with my sister because I was feeling like my life was pretty rough.

By 8:00 p.m. that night, I had an explanation for the subtle changes in Chris’s personality. I quickly became the terrified wife of a man who had just learned he had two masses in is head. Every time I went to the bathroom in the ER that night (being 9 months pregnant, there were plenty of visits), I stared at the tear-streaked face of the woman in the mirror who was having her world rocked. I didn’t know it then, but I was the woman in training for widowhood.

In the weeks and months that followed Chris’s death, I was the young mother who functioned in a haze of numbness and relied on a team of people to get her through the day. I was the “poor widow” who needed meals delivered to her house, her laundry washed for her and her groceries purchased for her. By the end of that first year, I was the widow who was becoming more capable of keeping her head afloat in the sea of chaos. I became the single mother (a much despised label a few months earlier) who managed a large support network of friends and family. And I became the woman who managed to organize a fundraiser for the first anniversary of Chris’s death (mostly for the selfish reason that it kept me very distracted from reality).

In the time since that first anniversary, I have added new layers to the post-widowhood woman I have become. I have become the woman who expects an attack of grief to hit at the most unexpected times and at the most inappropriate of places. I have become the woman who gradually stopped cringing at the word “daddy” and fell in love with hearing her children say it. I have become the woman who is comfortable telling other preschool parents that her husband died.

I have become the woman who is determined that her children will be happy and well-adjusted despite their circumstances. I have become the woman who is capable of juggling work, child rearing, fundraising and a fairly full social life. I have become the woman who sees more than an empty void in her future.

I am not the woman who believes her life is over because her spouse is gone. I am not the woman who is “over” her husband’s death. I am not the woman who thinks this part of my life will be erased if I remarry. I am not the woman who thinks this process will be all tidied up within a certain timeframe. I am the woman who sadly acknowledges that my husband dying would probably make me a better partner to someone else. I am the woman who has learned some hard lessons and recognizes that this won’t exempt her from experiencing more of them in the future. And now, I have become the woman who feels compelled to help others through this process.

January 13th will always be a complex day for me. While it represents the death of one, it also signifies the rebirth of another. Yes, I am a widow. But, thankfully, I have also become so much more.