THE OTHER WIDOWS IN THE HOOD

The first time I was really present to this new cultural world I had entered was when I went to an event at my Church the week after Ned’s funeral. I had been attending events by myself for some time as my husband’s physical issues after his stroke substantially limited his activities. Couple that with the fact that at heart he was somewhat of a hermit and he used the stroke as a justification for staying home from public events the last few years he was alive. As a result I was a solo attendee for lots of things in the years after his stroke. However, something was very different now.

When I walked into the Parish Hall that night I was immediately met by our wonderful, thoughtful priest and escorted to a table where several other women were already seated. He introduced me to the other women with these words, “You probably know Sharon but you may not know that she is a widow now. Her husband was buried last Friday.” It seems that all the women at that table were widows. I was now officially part of that group. I was a widow and I was seated at the widow’s table!

In short order I was introduced to some of the unique aspects of that world. First, they all wanted to let me know they could not believe that I was already out of the house in engaged in life.  One woman even said to me that she could not even get off the couch for about four years after her husband’s death. She followed that with an explanation (out loud but clearly to herself) that, of course, her situation was different because her husband had health problems and she had to be his caregiver for 4 years before he died. I did not have the heart to tell her that the same was true for me. She needed to justify to herself why she was immobilized by his death and trapped in her own home without engaging in life for so long after he was gone and here I was at  a Church supper a week after his death.

One of the interesting things I learned that night about widows, particularly those of a certain age who no longer have children at home is that they really have to deal with what to do with their life without “him.” Younger widows don’t seem to have that luxury. There are so many demands on them around their children that they have to get back to living as soon as possible. It certainly does not make the journey any easier or any less traumatic but it does provoke activity and that can take your mind of yourself from time to time at least.

As someone who always had a life that included him in its very fabric but did not depend on him for its existence, that part of the process was less challenging for me. What was difficult was being relegated to the status of “widow.” I was now suddenly not welcome at “couples” events. I was now dining alone – not by choice but because I was alone. I was now expected to join the other widows at events and activities and to be the third wheel at family gatherings and social events – if I was invited.

The other widows always want to know how long I was married, how long ago he died, what happened to him, and do I have children and grandchildren. Not once has one of these women asked me what I do for a living. Not once have I been asked about my professional activities and, if that subject comes up they either change the subject or leave the conversation. Their lives seem to be centered on what happened before he died and how they dealt with his death. They take trips together. They shop together. They have lunch together and they visit the cemetery together.

They are lovely women and I know they are coping in the way they know best but this is not my path. The biggest problem is that society seems to think that I have been relegated to that domain. For the rest of the world the widow is to be pitied – after all, her husband died and he was the real center of the world in her life. Her value is now much less because he is no longer there to maintain their status as a couple. The expectation of other widows is that women of a certain age follow the rules and do widowhood the way it was meant to be done.

That first Friday night after Ned’s funeral I began to see what I was now dealing with in reality. Pity the poor widow was not just some saying, it was the way the world saw me and the way other widows expected to be seen and related to. Society has taught us well!