The "I" in WIDOW - Selfish Grief

Today marks 13 months into this new life I never imagined. I meet people now who didn’t know my Kahuna. Had not subscribed to the George and Paula Channel. They see Paula, Party of One. I am friendly and seemingly happy - but they have no idea who his Lovely Paula Marie was before That Day.


The world (minus one) has moved on and accepted the fact that George is gone. His name doesn’t come up in conversation as often. Sometimes he’s not mentioned at all. People assume I am moving on too. It’s a “year after”, after all. I’m moving forward, slowly, but I can’t stop missing George. I want to hear more George-isms. Funny Kahuna moments. I want people to talk about him. I’m selfish that way…


I’m starting to understand that there are two types of grief. Grief for the loss of George, and for the void he left in our lives - his dreams of fishing trips, baseball games and family vacations with his grandkids. His sage wisdom and father/uncle/grandfatherly advice. His goodness, and goofiness. His humanity and generosity. His laughter.

Then there’s my selfish grief. Why do I have to start over? Why did he die when I had told him so many times he couldn’t - that I could never go on without him? Why must I rewrite my final chapters? Why can’t I have the storybook ending – the cute old couple holding hands as they walk down the aisle at Trader Joe’s? Selfish grief is a singular journey. Just like widowhood.

When I lost George I lost half of me. I lost our future. I lost my lover. My confidant. I lost my best friend. I lost wrap-me-in-his-arm hugs, long slow kisses, opera nights. Warm hands to hold. A body to snuggle up to in our Kahuna-size bed. A morning cup of coffee delivered as soon as he heard me stirring upstairs. I lost my tomorrows, so beautifully planned, with him. The numbness and widow’s fog has lifted. He is gone, but my emptiness remains. How selfish is that? There is an “I” in WIDOW– and now I know what it stands for.

Selfish grief also comes with a heaping dose of guilt. I shame myself for making it all about me. George suffered the ravages of chemo with quiet acceptance. As brutal as it was, he was willing to endure the pain for the promise of more time - which, tragically, he did not get.

And through it all, he made sure I would be safe and secure when he was gone. How dare I feel sorry for myself when I am alive, healthy, and surrounded by extraordinary family and my village of friends?

Paula 2.0 is s-l-o-w-l-y emerging. But Selfish Paula still makes her appearance daily. I don’t know how long selfish grief will last. In year two, I know the power to make that decision rests solely with me.

I can’t bring George back, and for that I will grieve forever. But I can stop being selfish.

Someday…

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