Keep Calm and Widow On

My name is Paula, and I am a Widow. There, I said it. The “W-word”. Checking "that" marital status box is still a gut punch. I am a widow who lovingly slips my wedding rings on my hand each day, while George's rings stay close to my heart on a chain worn around my neck. Like Elvis, my Kahuna has left the building, but my heart still beats to the rhythm of the lifetime of music we made together. I am a widow disguised as a married woman. And I am just fine with that, thank you very much. I have worn my scarlet "W"  for nine months. Am I adjusting? Yes. Do I laugh, find joy, and practice self-care? I do. Have I “gotten over” my Kahuna’s death? Impossible... 



Nine months ago in a hospital ICU, I held George’s hand for the last time. As the respirator was disconnected and he took his final breath, I felt his grasp tighten ever so gently around my fingers – his assurance that he would always be with me. I know he wants me to be happy again. But I miss the “me” I was when I was with him. I miss the “we” of our fifty year friendship and love. When will I feel whole again?

One thing I don’t expect to feel again is the love George and I shared. It was the love of youth - passionate and hopeful – eager with anticipation of the life we planned together. Over time it became comfortable and content. A love borne out of friendship.The half century of shared experiences – joyful and tragic – and an almost 44 year marriage rooted in trust, hope and our commitment to face it all together. We had a once-in-a-lifetime love, the breadth of which can be measured by the depth of my grief. Being enveloped now in the love of my children, grandchildren, and the warm support of my village of friends and family, I have found a soft place to land. I had my one - and only - true love, and will be forever grateful. 



Losing my lover and my best friend was devastating. Losing my protector and confidant defines the phrase, “When he died, a part of me died too.” George knew me better than anyone. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the traumatic. Our lifetime of shared experiences and closely held confidences died with my Kahuna in the ICU last April. I cry at that irreplaceable loss.

What lies ahead for this widow? A slow yet steady awakening from the widow's fog. A desire to emerge from the darkness of the past year. Just as nine months culminated (twice) in the delivery of the gifts of our union – Son and Daughter – I am marking this latest passage of time with a declaration of my rebirth. Here comes his Lovely Paula Marie, kicking and screaming into her new existence. One she was not prepared for - but had no choice but to face. There will be (more) crying, sleepless nights, and unsteady steps along the way. Thankfully I have  my village to “widow-proof” my surroundings. And I have my Kahuna, visiting me and leaving signs of his presence, loving me through every new, messy, anxiety ridden, lesson-learning experience.

I hate being a widow. There is nothing merry about it. But I think I’m ready to face whatever the rest of my super-adulthood has to offer. Keep Calm and Widow On!

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