It’s been almost three years, now, since my life ended–my real life, that is. Of course, the world went on–just like before–but on the day my husband died, my life stopped.
Don’t get the idea that I went into my closet and never came out again–or, that I went to bed and cried 24/7. No, that wasn’t it at all. I was able to do all the right things, and I went through all the necessary tasks–one by one. To all appearances, I faced up to the fact that he was gone and was pretty much able to go forward. But really, that wasn’t the way it was at all.
If you are a widow, you probably know what I mean. Contrary to what people say, you don’t go on! Going on indicates that you were on a certain course, and then, continued on that course by yourself. No, that certainly is not the way it is. When your husband dies…You start over.
There is no way one person, who was part of a two-person unit, can go on. That would be like a bicycle trying to finish the race with only one tire. No, as a widow, I was no longer a part of a bicycle. I was now a unicycle. I might have been part of the best bicycle ever, but that didn’t prepare me for being a unicycle.
It has been a laborious, heart-wrenching struggle to be re-structured and squeezed into an new life–a life of one, not two. Blessedly, I am a Christian and it’s only been with God’s help that I’ve been able to stand.
I’m not sure why I feel led to share all this, but I hope that sharing my experience might be helpful in some small way to someone.