Newsflash: I'm a widow. With a capital 'W'.
Did you know?
As weird as it sounds, I haven't felt like a widow since Craig's accident. The first few months I'd have kicked anyone's arse who tried to call me one, muttering obscenities under my breath and shouting something to the effect of, "I'm not a widow! I'm married, my husband just isn't here right now."
Never quite got a handle on the 'single' tag either. For some reason this alludes to all sorts of adjectives that I haven't been in a decade and, therefore, couldn't possibly be now.
But I started going to a spousal grief support group last week. The first one was a little rocky, but last night's was much better. We broke into smaller groups which was great for me since it let me talk a lot more. And you know how I love to talk.
But it was the first time I felt like I actually fitted into a group. Like I actually belonged somewhere.
And then it hit me.
I'm a widow.
I. Am. A. Widow.
OMG I'm A FREAKING WIDOW!
Yeah, you'd think it would have occurred to me at some point already, but for some reason it was just a word. I never felt like it was ok to be sad or cry or grieve. I'm 26 for crying out loud, who loses someone that young? Only old people are widows, not me.
But there it was, last night, steamrolling over me.
I am a widow.
I get to be sad.
I get to miss him.
I get to grieve.
I even get to act a little nuts sometimes.
This is me now. I don't have to hurry up and get over it or pretend I'm ok for everyone else. I'm allowed to be sad.
I thought it would be more depressing for this realization to hit me, but for some reason it was liberating. A huge relief.
If other people don't get it or are made uncomfortable by it, oh well.
Deal with it.
I'm a widow.