I Am a Widow. Now What?
I probably shoot every idea of a widow out of the sky. When you hear the word widow, you probably think of the "Aunt Bea" type of lady. You know the type, always baking cookies for neighborhood children, cooking delicious meals, old, keeping an immaculate house, active church member, old, motherly type, good listener, and did I say OLD.
We have either imagined or we know someone who is like that. She takes on a whole new name like the character from Huck Finn, the Widow Douglas. Who wouldn’t want to be her? She was rich, a good woman, active in the community and still found time to take in the juvenile delinquent, Huck Finn.
Well I am none of the above.
Oh, I can bake cookies. I just open the pack, scoop out a spoonful of cookie dough and presto, Cookies. My son thinks I am a genius. Little does he know that the Pillsbury Dough Boy and me are tight.
I can cook delicious meals. Granted my finger hurts at times from pushing so many buttons on the microwave. But hey, what are the golden arches for? Another reason my son thinks I am wonderful.
I keep house. I keep a path cleared from the front door to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the bathroom and from the bathroom to the bedroom, all the necessary rooms.
I am not what you would call a good listener. I like to talk, as you can see. That was one of the reasons I married Wesley. He was shy, quiet and he listened to me or at least pretended to.
I am definitely not OLD. I was 24 when I lost my husband Wesley in a car accident and I have to say it was not easy. I did a lot of stupid stuff. I went through what I like to call my "Crazy" phase. I was at an age when most young women are looking to the future. I was looking as if my life was over.
I admit that I felt old. I also felt like I was walking around with a big "W" on my chest or forehead for the whole world to see. I felt that life for me was over. Little did I know, that life was definitely not over, but it would take a whole different turn.
Now don’t get me wrong, I truly miss and love Wesley. I struggle even today to cope with his loss. But I have to say that I have grown in my crisis and I can even find humor. That is why I chose to write about this. It is sort of a therapy for me. I get a chance to look back and laugh at myself and in turn I hope to make you laugh too.
If you are a widow, widower or experienced a loss, you know you feel anger. This was one of the most difficult emotions for me to handle. I didn’t want to admit that I was angry. I am from the South. I was brought up to be a proper Southern Belle and never raise my voice or express my dislike for something. My son is probably wondering where this Southern Belle is in his mom. But in the South, young ladies are demur and keep to themselves or at least I did.
I found humor in everything. I was always the one who could get out of trouble by making my mother laugh. A tactic my son tries to use, but little does he know, that I am the master of it and it won’t work. I was the one who could take a tense situation and make the people laugh. I love to laugh and to be honest I love to be the center of attention, another trait my son has. So anger was very difficult for me. I didn’t want to be angry with Wesley for dying. I didn’t want to be angry with people for being inconsiderate and I didn’t want to be angry with God. As a good, southern, Christian girl, I was brought up to believe that God has His reasons and we are not to question Him. This was the most difficult for me.
So I channeled my anger into other wells. I would like to take this time to apologize to all the cashiers, bank tellers, drivers on the roads and any other innocent bystander who had to reap the benefits of my wrath. I am truly sorry.
The first time I remember having anger was when I decided to go back to school to complete my degree. I was sitting in an Art Appreciation class studying the Egyptian culture and its effects on art. I am sort of a history guru and I enjoy studying different civilizations. Well, I can’t be exactly sure what the professor said, but it was totally off base. I sitting there thinking, "You are an Idiot." The problem is that I was thinking out loud. Yes, I told a college professor that she was an idiot. I have to say that was the quietest that my class had ever been. I just sat there with my mouth open staring at her. She was like looking in a mirror, for she too was staring at me with her mouth open. This was when I found that Keds do not taste very good because I put not just one foot in my mouth but both feet up to my knees. I managed to apologize and class continued. Well, my grade in that class didn’t help my grade point average, but what did she know, she was an idiot.
Another to experience my anger was a driver on the road. When I experienced death, I lost all concept of logic. This is the logic needed to drive on the interstate, especially in malfunction junction of Birmingham. I turned into one of those drivers from hell. You know the type; the ones who change lanes without signaling, ride other drivers’ bumpers and give these dirty looks to you if you dare honk at me for my driving.
When I lost Wesley, I found that I did most of my thinking while I was driving, not a good place. I am living proof that God takes care of his children, even the foolish ones. I would get lost in thought and completely lose track of where I was going or how I was going to get there. I would come back to reality long enough to see my exit, cut across three lanes of traffic and make my turn. This was the first time that I was flipped off and I have to say that it did hurt. But now, I have gotten used to it.
Another occasion, I was driving along on the interstate and I saw another car wanting to get over. I don’t what came over me, maybe it was one of my good days or I had a lapse of memory, I don’t know. But I decided to be nice and slow down so that he could get in front of me. Well, he didn’t give me the "Thank You" wave. This is the wave to let others know that you appreciate their kindness. That is when I became on a mission. I was on a mission to get that man to tell me "Thank You." He was going to say it if I had to follow him to Atlanta. I speeded up and got in the lane next to him. He was going fast so I had to accelerate my speed. I know now that I must have looked like I was Dale Earnhart at Talladega because I was changing lanes so fast. All I needed was the #3 and I would have been set. I followed him, forgetting that I had to go to class. I was going to get a "thank you." I pulled up beside him. He looked at me and then looked back ahead. The nerve of him, he couldn’t even smile to the person who gave him a break. I didn’t have to let him over. He could have waited until someone else came along. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. So I honked my horn. He looked at me as if I had annoyed him. I mouthed to him "Thank You." He looked as if I had purple spots on my face with green teeth. I again mouthed "Thank You." He looked ahead and then back to me. I gave him that "I am waiting" look. He thought for a moment and then mouthed to me "You’re Welcome."
I wouldn’t let myself be angry with Wesley for dying, so I stayed angry with him for the stupid stuff from our marriage. I thought of the time that he went squirrel hunting (remember, I am from the South) the day after our wedding. I got to go grocery shopping. I thought of all the hunting and fishing supplies that he bought during our marriage even when we couldn’t afford it. I even thought of all the times he forgot to take out the trash. I just couldn’t let myself be angry with him for dying.
I finally let myself be angry with God. I am not proud of it. I didn’t want to be. It was probably three months after Wesley’s death and I was approaching my wedding anniversary. I was driving, as usual, and I began to cry. I cried and I screamed. If anyone saw me that day, I know that they thought I was a complete lunatic. I kept screaming at God, "Why!?" Why, would he take Wesley at 33? Why would He make me a widow at 24? Why would he take my son’s dad before he got to know him? I just wanted to know why. I had always been the good girl. What had I done to deserve this? I like to think that God was looking down at me and putting his arms around me. I also like to think that he was saying, "I know, Kim, you go ahead and cry. I am here. Go ahead and cry." I know now that God made us and he understands our feelings, even if they are directed at him. He also has big shoulders for us to cry on. God understood that the only way I was going to get over the anger was to express it. He let me scream at Him. He let me cry in anger toward him. He understood and he didn’t leave me.
Everyone handles grief in different ways. It really depends on the person. I handled it the way that I could, money. I made typical big purchases, a car, computer, piano, and down payment on a house. But I also made some foolish purchases. I bought a lot of clothes. If I found a sweater that I liked and it came in a variety of colors, I bought every color.
I went shopping with a co-worker on our break one day. We only got a 45-minute break, so we were going to go to a small clothing store and just "look." In less than 30 minutes, I spent over $300 that was $10 per minute. My co-worker just stared at me. The cashier was just giddy, I guess she was thinking of her commission. And I was oblivious to it all.
But that wasn’t the worse case scenario. While I was married, I wore only those cotton white "granny" panties with a simple white bra. Well, I thought that now that I was single again that I needed accessorize my under garments. I went to store that specialized in lingerie. I wanted to feel sexy, I guess. So I went to purchase some sexy panties with matching bras. I came out of the store with 52 pair of panties and 52 matching bras. Don’t ask me what I was thinking, because I wasn’t. I came home and had to put the bras in one drawer and the panties in another. (I used to keep them all in one drawer). I bought every color and print known to man and some not known. I don’t know why I bought them, no one could see them and no one knew what they looked like. So I would sit around with my matching bra and panties and only I could appreciate them.
Another way that I dealt with the grief was that I went gambling. Yes, I visited a casino. I went to Mississippi (Redneck Las Vegas) and commenced to find happiness at the slot machines. I didn’t know at these slot machines that as long as you gamble, the drinks are free. I have never really drank and I had never been drunk before in my life. But, hey, what the heck, they are free. The cocktail waitress came by with a tray carrying drinks in paper Dixie cups, remember Redneck Las Vegas, and I would grab one every time. I had never heard of a screwdriver. I thought that was something that you would use to remove a screw when you couldn’t find a clean butter knife. I didn’t care for the screwdriver drink and evidently neither did anyone else in the casino because every time she made her way to me, all she had was screwdrivers. I learned important lessons that night. First, you are not going to get rich at the slot machines. Second, alcohol and I don’t mix well and third, a toilet is very cool on your forehead.
People are humans and humans make mistakes. I make them everyday, how else could I write this book. But as humans, we tend to not think before we speak. As a widow, I seemed to attract these people. They are in two different categories: stupid and stupider. They both make you won’t to slap them up side the head and say "Shut Up!" But, remember, I am a Southern Belle and I wouldn’t do that.
The people in the stupid category ask stupid questions and say stupid things. I heard everything. How are you going to live? Well, I will breathe in and out and hope that my heart keeps pumping. How awful it must be. No, it is like a walk in the park. An older man probably 73, said, "I know just what you are going through. I lost my wife after 52 years of marriage." I know he meant well, but get real. I was 24, married only 3 and half years, raising a son by myself. He couldn’t begin to know what I was feeling. But one of my favorite was, "Too bad you are not pregnant." What?! Like I don’t have enough pressure on me. Another favorite of mine was "Is it hard to go from having sex to not being able to have sex at all?" I was asked this several times and I came up with the perfect comeback. "No, Books-a-Million has a book titled, Sex for One. Now I know these people were either curious or trying to think of a way to talk to me. I don’t hold any grudges against them. At least they talked to me and asked questions.
The second group is the stupider group. They are the people that won’t talk to you. They tip toe around you. They won’t do anything but smile and look the other way. If you do get them in conversation, all they do is apologize.
One day, I was sitting with a group of people and the subject turned to death. Only one in the group knew my situation and I could see the look on her face. The conversation became more in depth when she stood up and said "SSSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!! She’s a widow." Now everyone had that "What have we done" look. I just smiled and visualized the black W on my forehead. From then on, everyone from that group steered a wide path around me.
I guess the point I trying to make that widows and widowers are not made of glass. We are not fragile. We are not going to collapse at the least bit of uncomfortable situation. One benefit to being a widow, I have learned, is my ability to adapt to different situations. This is an ability that I acquired after dealing with my grief. It was not easy at first, but I find now that I can get through sticky situations and I come out even wiser.
I don’t how every widow and widower deals with their children and the new experience of being a single parent. I can only tell you what I did with my son. My husband died shortly before our son’s second birthday. I didn’t realize the full impact of being a single mom until it came time to potty train.
I was brought up in a house full of females, even our pets were females. All you men who are reading this can feel for my father. I was the oldest with a younger sister. So when it came to bathroom etiquette. I can only tell you from a female perspective. That all changed when it came time to potty train my son. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that males had the joy of standing to relieve themselves, but I was not prepared to train my son. I thought I would never get him to quit sitting to tinkle. But I found the key, I let him use the bathroom outside. Oh happy day, he loved it and went to the bathroom "outside" at every opportunity. We might be leaving church and shaking hands with the pastor and there my son would be watering the church lawn. He might be at daycare on top of the slide showing all his little friends the law of gravity. My son realized that as a male, the world was his out house.
The other joy of being a single mother was sleeping arrangements. I would let my son sleep with me from day one after his father’s death. I know as a little girl that I slept with a stuff teddy bear, a cute cuddly soft teddy. My son on the other hand slept with matchbox cars, trains, action figures and toys that made noises. I will tell you to wake up with an action figure stuck to my butt was not a comfortable feeling.
Now I had some times that I hated being a single mom. It was when it came to discipline. I had to be both the mother and the father. It was a difficult job and one in the beginning that I didn’t relish. I let my son get away with anything simply because it was easier than having to be the bad guy. I love my son, but I was turning him into the spawn of hell. I realized one day that I was the parent and it was time to bring discipline back to the household. As a single parent, I couldn’t help but condone corporal punishment. I had to be even harder to make up for the mistakes that I made earlier.
One incident, I don’t know exactly what my son had done, but I do remember I was angry. I was angry and the Southern Belle flew right out the window. I was screaming, telling him what he did wrong and preparing him for his spanking. My son looked at me and gave me an angelic look. "Mom, God wants you to let go of your anger." I just stood there. I felt the corners of my mouth creep upward, but I was going to stand firm and prove my point. I put my son over my knee and raised my hand. "Mom, if you keep spanking me, you won’t get to go to heaven." That was it. I couldn’t help it. I put him down and went to the kitchen where I laughed. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me laugh at him.
There are disadvantages of being a widow. There are little crisis that spring up at the most inopportune time and wreak havoc on my life. These are the little things that I depended on man to take care of.
As a woman, I depended on a man to get up in the middle of the night when I heard noises. Well, now that I was alone, I had to be the one who looked for the causes of nighttime noises. One night I heard a strange noise that sounded as if someone was trying to get into my house. I lay in the bed trying to think of any logical reason that it should sound like someone was walking in my house. When I couldn’t think of anything, I tried to plan what to do so that I could protect myself and my son. I thought of waking my son and letting him come with me, but I scratched that idea quickly. Anyway, what could a two year old do in the face of danger. I then, began to think of what kind of weapon I could use. I didn’t have a gun and anyway, I wouldn’t know how to shoot them. I looked around my room for a weapon and the only thing that I could find was my son’s toy Barney Banjo. I thought for a moment. It was made of heavy plastic. If there was someone in my house, I could hit them with this and distract them while I ran to my room and called the police. I picked up the banjo and walked quietly down the hall. I looked in every room. I looked just like the TV cops when they are looking for a suspect. I would walk in the room, swing the banjo and sigh with relief when I didn’t hit anyone. After I secured all the rooms upstairs, I walked to the top of my stairs. I raised the banjo as I prepared to make my trek down the stairs. I moved my hands to grip the banjo firmly. At that moment, I hit the button on the banjo to start it playing. The banjo started playing "Old Macdonald". I screamed and threw the banjo down the stairs and ran and hid myself under the covers.
Other crisis comes in home repairs. One day, I was just finishing using the bathroom and I went to flush. I couldn’t get it to flush. I lifted the lid of the tank to realize that the flapper had broke and needed to be replaced. Being a female and a blond, I figured that I had to get the toilet flushed. I went downstairs and got my trusty tool, the butter knife. I found that the butter knife could be anything from a screwdriver to a hammer. I got the butter knife and used it to remove the flapper to flush the toilet. I was really proud of myself. Now, what other female could think to use a butter knife to flush a toilet. Not many.
I have now begun to look for my knight in shining armor. I have come across my share of court jesters. Being a young widow, I quickly wanted to replace what I had lost with Wesley. Granted I started looking a bit soon for my Mr. Right and all I have found so far is Mr. Wrong.
When you become a young widow, men come out of the woodwork looking for you. I must say that I was flattered. I was never really pursued and I didn’t date much in high school, so this was all new to me. It built my ego immensely.
Men from my husband’s job were the first to come running to my rescue. I later found out that they had the same life insurance policy that Wesley had and they realize that I had money that they would probably never see. Luckily none of them got my money.
I was so desperate to replace what I had lost, that I started looking anywhere to find a man. This is one of the moments that I wished I had never been born, but I learned from it. I was a proper Southern girl and I didn’t hang out in the bars. So, I knew I wasn’t going to meet a man there. I didn’t get out much, because I was a single mom and I couldn’t just drop everything and go hang out places to meet men, you know, library, bookstores, auto mechanics school, etc. So used all my tools at my home, the Internet and the phone.
My first date was a man that I met on one of those single lines. This is where you pay a monthly fee and leave a voice recording about yourself. Men can call and listen and if they like you, they can leave you a message. I had several messages. I was feeling very proud. I listen to each one and talked to a few. I really became interested in this one man. He was 40 and I was 24. Strike one! He was just recently divorced. Strike two! He bragged about his Ronnie Millsap 8-track collection. Strike three! But, me being blind to all the red flags agreed to have a date with him. I thought that I had found another man. I thought that I was on the road to getting married. I even wrote a poem (gag) about the wonderful man that I had found after a time of heartache. (Remember, I haven’t met him yet, we have just talked on the phone.) I was so excited, that was until he showed up at the door.
He told me not to dress up because he wasn’t. But of course, if I was going to meet my future husband for the first time, I was going to make an excellent impression. I couldn’t eat at all that day for the anticipation of my date with Mr. Right. I was upstairs putting on the finishing touches when I heard car door slam. Oh, here he comes, I raced down the stairs and slowed to a walk so it wouldn’t look like I was over eager. He doorbell rang, I made a quick breath check and answer the door. I opened the door to meet Gomer Pyle. I couldn’t believe it. I was standing there looking at a man that reeked of Mayberry and the main idiot from the town. He had a dozen roses and a goofy grin. I graciously thanked him and took them to my kitchen. I prayed for courage as I made my way back to him. We went to the restaurant and the whole evening he talked of nothing but how wonderful it was to be out with me and that we would have a wonderful future together. Then he put the icing on the cake, he laughed. Everyone in the restaurant got very quiet and turned to see who was laughing. He laughed like Arnold Horshack from Welcome Back, Kotter. I wanted to die.
Finally, the waitress came over and gave me a sympathetic look. I ordered a salad. Now men, some women order a salad because they are watching their figure or they want to make a good impression on you. I don’t. I order a salad, because you don’t have to wait on a salad to be cooked. It is already ready, thus making it a quick evening. My date on the other hand ordered the rack of lamb. So much for a quick exit. I sat there and agonized through the meal. I prayed that my mother would call and tell me to hurry home that my son had a fever or anything. No such luck.
I decided that once we got back in his car, I would tell him that I didn’t think I was ready to date yet. That was it, I would use that being a widow made it difficult for me. We made it through the meal with him laughing and trying to get me to eat more. We made it to the car and I didn’t waste any time. "I am sorry, but I just don’t think that I am ready to date yet. I thought I was, but I know now that I am not. I am sorry that I had to use you as my lab rat to experiment with." I looked over to see what his reaction was. It was not what I thought it would be. He was crying. I couldn’t believe it. We have only talked on the phone every once in a while and this was a first date. He was acting like I was ending a long-term relationship. We made it back to my house and I didn’t even let the car come to a stop. He slowed down and I opened the door and rolled out to my front stoop.
It would be another three months before I would venture out to date again. This time, I used the Internet to help me with my pursuit of Mr. Right. I found a guy that seem to fit my description of the perfect man. He was kind hearted and he was a fireman. Yeah! We talked via email for a while and then we began to talk on the phone. He told me about himself and told me that he was a little overweight. Now, I don’t judge people by the weight. I am over weight. Most of America is overweight. So, I told him that it didn’t matter. I heard him sigh with relief and we made a date. I chose to meet him at the restaurant because I learned from my last fiasco that I wouldn’t want to be stuck on a date with Gomer again. I described my vehicle and he said that he would be waiting outside. I again was excited and couldn’t wait to meet him. Now, I wasn’t thinking that this could be my future husband, but I did think that it was promising. Boy was I wrong.
I pulled up to the restaurant to see a very large man standing outside. Surely that isn’t him, I thought. That man must weigh close to 400lbs. As I pulled in, the large man waved. Oh, no, not again. Okay, Kim, get a grip. It might not be that bad. You enjoyed talking to him on the phone and the computer. Just try to enjoy the evening. I walked up to meet my date, the large man. He looked at me and said, Shall we go in, and I am starving. The restaurant that he chose to meet at was an all you can eat buffet. A waitress seated us and she took our order. I ordered a salad, of course. My date chose the buffet. She smiled and told him to help himself. He helped himself. He helped himself five times. The whole evening in between visits to the buffet line, he talked of all the favorite restaurants that he loved to eat at. I kept thinking, I couldn’t marry this man. We would go broke trying to feed him. My son would starve. Needless to say, I didn’t call him again.
Don’t get me wrong. There were several men who I met via the Internet who thought that I was wonderful till they meet me. They wooed me with their words and charms, but as soon as they met me, they couldn’t run fast enough. At least I stuck it through my dates and didn’t leave them standing.
I have had some serious relationships that didn’t lead to marriage but taught me some valuable lessons. I met my first serious relationship after a friend fixed me up with him. I was his first serious relationship since his divorce and he was as excited as I was. He was so excited that he proposed to me after only two months of dating. Of course, me, the marriage hungry fiend, said yes. We were sitting down to supper and I had prepared my specialty, Homemade Spaghetti and Meatballs. I was so proud. I was thinking, soon, I will be cooking for this man on an everyday basis. He looked at me and I smiled. He took one bite of my spaghetti and stopped cold.
"What are we doing?" he asked.
"What?"
"What are we doing? We are not ready for marriage. I can’t marry you. I haven’t dealt with all my past enough to be married again. I am sorry."
I couldn’t believe it. I was engaged and almost two hours later, I was right back where I was, single and no prospect of marriage. I just stared at my plate. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I looked at my spaghetti and looked at him.
"Are you going to say something?" he asked.
"This is the last time that I feed a man my spaghetti until I get a wedding band."
We both cracked up and laughed. It became a running joke with us. If either one of us felt the least bit of pressure, we would always ask, "Where is the spaghetti?"
The other serious relationship lasted longer than any other relationship that I have ever had. Which is surprising with how it started out. We met through family and we decided to have dinner at a nice restaurant in Birmingham. There were several young couple going to attend a prom. One young lady sitting across from us got up and slipped. Luckily her date caught her and she recovered quickly. I looked at my date. "There is nothing worse than falling on date, especially in a prom dress." He agreed and shortly we were called for our table. WE got up and I was walked behind the hostess feeling really confident when the next thing I know, I was flat on the floor. I could have made a snow angel, if I just had moved my arms and legs back and forth. It was so embarrassing. I got up quickly and ran to our table. My date kept asking me if I was ok. The manager came to check on me. I wanted to die, not only from the embarrassment, but also the pain in my hand. We tried to eat, but after my graceful entrance, I felt we were about to have to go to the emergency room. We left the restaurant with me securely holding onto my date’s belt loop so if I fell I was taking him with me. We made a stop by a drugstore and picked up an ace bandage. He wrapped my hand up and packed it with ice. I still have that ace bandage with all my other memorabilia from our relationship.
I thought that the answer to my happiness would be in finding a husband. I found out quickly (especially with my luck) that I wasn’t going to fix all my problems with a man. I found that I had to be at peace with myself and my situation. I was going to have to not dwell on the negative but on the positive. I have a beautiful son, who at times, keeps me busier than I have ever been before. I have a wonderful future ahead of me that looked promising everyday. I had a wonderful husband. Though it was short time, I am thankful for everyday that I had with him and I wouldn’t want to take a day away from it. I have peace. Peace that I didn’t have at the beginning on my road trip of widowhood. It is a peace that I found along the way. When I found peace, I found the happiness that I was needing. I found that I was complete in myself and that I was going to make it fine with my new identity. I have a lot of people who cheered me through it and I know now that they were here for me when I needed them the most. I no longer see the dark cloud looming over my head reminding me that I am alone and a widow, but I see the rainbow of promise of a happy life.