Here’s the thing about being a widow…
You can get trauma therapy to help find a place for those horrible death/post-death, memories. Which I have done.
You can get grief counseling to help with the symptoms of grief and talk it through. Which I have done.
You can join grief support groups for widow/ers so that you can get that peer support that is so crucial. Which I have done.
You can connect online with widow/er communities to find those who are walking these roads with you, who can offer encouragement and support, and thank god for each and every one of sisters/brothers in those communities. Which I have done.
You can put yourself out there, engage with people socially, and push at your comfort zones continually. Which I have done.
But here’s the thing.
This widow grief thing…it’s a matter of the heart. It’s a matter of a broken heart, where your very soul cries out for the touch of the one who died, and over and over again, as the years pass, you go to bed and you get up and your heart tells you again and again that he is gone forever. And that one little fact looms over everything you do, including the life necessity of breathing.
Widowhood has to do with broken hearts.
And I don’t say any of this for sympathy, truly. I don’t need sympathy or pity. I don’t want either of those.
I’m just saying that what makes this so unbearable, what makes it so difficult to wade through, is that it concerns a broken heart.
I miss my beloved husband, Chuck D, with every shattered piece of my heart-