Widow
Widow. Who wants to be a widow? Nobody. Not even a 90 year old wants to be a widow. At the beginning of this journey, I remember hating the word. I remember promising myself it would not define me at 41. But, I hated it nonetheless. The pity, the sad glances, and awkward pauses, it all makes a bad situation worse. And widowhood, more than widowerhood seems to be riddled with judgement and stereotypes and expectations. In those early days of widowhood, it was like a new name. I tried it out a few times. It was always awkward, or shocking to the other party. You're what? No one expects someone "my age" to be a widow. But, I was. I remember crying before I started my new job thinking how everyone there would only know the widow me, the broken version of the formerly awesome me. The widow version. It was hard to think I would be meeting a whole new group of people who would only know me,...