CHEETAH BOOTS & FLOWERS

Cheetah Boots – a frivolous practicality.

I bought these cute little boots in November of 2020.

I was out and about, just dinking around – meandering in and out of shops; casually snooping around unfamiliar towns, meeting new people, and generally wasting as much time as possible out-of-house before returning home to eat supper and fall into bed.

This is my chosen solo lobo habit, when weather permits. I’ve never before had so much free time on my hands; and after the initial shock of finding so much time on my hands, I’m finding that I rather enjoy it 😉

I remember the town I was in. I remember the store I was browsing through. When these cheetah print boots snagged my peripheral vision, I backtracked. I held them in my hands contemplatingly; weighing the pros and cons of walking out of the store with them.

I liked them. I wanted them. But, would the purchase be practical?

Then I laughed – I am sure people around me were wondering why I was standing in the aisle laughing. I didn’t care: ((((I)))) knew why I laughed as I held those boots. When I exited the store, those boots were with me.

When Bob retired in 2012, the kids and grandkids immediately asked Bob if he was going to start wearing sweat pants all the time … and if I was going to start wearing animal print clothing. Bob and I laughed, and assured them that if we left the house – we’d be suitably attired; so as not to embarrass them 😉

When I was talking with my granddaughter yesterday afternoon, I mentioned to her that I was thinking about changing my life as much as I can: a total redo, sans change of name, or address (I won’t go that far). Elohim made it clear to me that Longview is to be my home (and Bob wanted that, too, before he stepped off earth). And I like my Name. My birth name is hard for people to pronounce, so I don’t mind agreeable replacements … but, ditching the name Bob gave me August 27^th, 1974, is not optional.

Alyna was supportive of my decision. She understands my reasons. I was thankful. Then I told her about the cheetah boots, and we both laughed. She said she’d noticed that I am starting to wear makeup and nail polish – all of her life, she’d never seen me wear makeup or nail polish. When I explained why, again she understood. She also said that if wearing some makeup, nail polish, and cheetah boots, make me feel lively again; she’s happy for me. I am thankful 😊

These are small things; but they are things that buoy my spirit, now that Bob is no longer here – they cannot replace Bob, but they help stave off the missingness.

Practicality is an individual concept.

Every time I get out those cheetah boots, I chuckle. I laugh out loud when I think about the eye glasses in the dresser drawer (the funky glasses Bob inadvertently ‘chose’ for me 4 years ago), and the bits of jewelry I’ve collected, too.

Glasses Bob 'chose' for me. LOL. They echo my personality. I'll always treasure the private joke that led to my wearing them – they are a good memory.

Though I do not have a wardrobe full of animal print clothing – my limit is the boots and a light cardigan sweater – the image of cher’s Laverne character dances through my thoughts when I pair thoughts of boots, cardigan, glasses, and jewelry together. I do not wear all of it together … but the image does dance through my thoughts making me laugh out loud.

Add to the mix that I live in a Mobile Home Park – and I’m practically howling with irony at the twists and turns my life has taken since buying the house in 2017. The laughter has a bittersweet sound, but at least I am laughing again without bursting into tears.

Cher's character, Laverne; I can assuredly assure everyone that I will never got this far, even though I do get a bang out of Laverne’s shenanigans 😉

Laverne.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z164A2CS0zk)

I think I’ll slip those cheetah boots on to visit the post office downtown today; that should add a little dash to the foyer … and give the long line of people waiting, something to talk about later on. 

Laughter is good medicine 😊 

Flowers are good to lift spirits, too. 

I planted some pots of flower bulbs in the Fall: some have started to make a showing already, and that will brighten the gray gloomy days of early spring before the sun pushes the cloud layer back.

A life redo forging ahead.

Changes ahead …

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCJTnYELCxU)

Peppy cheetah boots to add a dash of wild confidence.

Flowers to please the eye, and brighten days.

That’s a pretty good start already to the unfolding of whatever 2022 holds.

DEALING & OVERTHINKING

5 weeks … possibly 6; before I can get back to traveling further than 10 minutes into the heart of “downtown” – or a “safe” half an hour to the next county.

Hopefully, by the middle of March, things will start drying up around here, and I can travel quite a bit further afield.

And with an outpouring of divine mercy, I may even get to travel between the two States flanking the Columbia River.

In the meantime, with the seemingly endless rain storms, that come pelting in off the river to flood the entire region – destabilizing hillsides, sweeping cars away in muddy floodplains, and sending car-sized boulders careening off cliffsides to barrel into traffic lanes: I’m pretty much trapped in-house unless I have to drive into town for quick business (to pay AT/T at downtown office to avoid ‘late fee’ charges; or quick grocery restock). So far, going into town isn’t tricky driving.

What does seem to be tricky, however, is fielding the questions from friends and family who seem to feel I should be an expert of heartache and familial angsts.

I am a widow; and a parent who has nerve-wracking children.

Bob’s spirit left Earth a little over 2 years ago.

Friends (my age, or slightly older) are facing their own morality, or the possibility of becoming a widow themselves: they are worried, scared, curious – and a bit rude in their question-and-answer probes.

At first it caught me by surprise; then it started to annoy me … now, I just accept it for what it is: they need pacifying, they are seeking answers – they think I can help them.

I can: to a degree. While it is true that I have walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and survived the pain and heart wrenching sorrow, to talk about it; I am certainly no expert on death and how it will affect them. Their lives are not my life. I can only speak in reference to my life, and how the loss of Bob affected/continues to affect my life. Sometimes that satisfies them.

And most of the time it no longer annoys me. 

I am more than Bob’s Widow.

I am still ME: VAL – a person that has a life separate from The Grim Reaper’s pivot point.

Being trapped indoors by governmental crackdown bullshit most of all of 2020, and projected to go into 2022, has left people with too much time on their hands to sit and think. Children, as well as adults are becoming morose.

Not only are adults contemplating their own mortality; their children are also feeling the effects of isolation, and acting out in alarming ways.

Which, again, puts me in the crosshairs of “expert” queries.

Parents (friends and family members) struggling with teens and young adults call me to talk about what they are going through … and ask me, “how did you deal with it?”

Again, the circumstances, situations, and resulting outcomes – are vastly different. Their children do not hate them: mine, truly do hate me. There is a huge difference in how I “dealt with it”. Their troubles are current … the troubles with my kids go back 51 and 37 years: and since both kids have removed themselves from my life following their father’s absence in all our lives, the way I am “dealing” will not be helpful to those seeking helpful insights.

I do my best to be helpful, but the picking at the scabs of my personal life annoys me. I do not want to resurrect a painful past, that obviously did not pan out very well for me; or mine. I share what I share when I want to share it … and I chose what I want to share in the moment. I don’t share everything, because that is my business: it’s not fodder for the familial-friend’s-or bystander stranger’s gossip mill.

And, inevitably, what is shared, always leads to judging from those making queries: “but, you don’t get along with your children, do you?” Instead of the correct assessment that my kids do not get along with me. The quizzers can’t help themselves – they need vindication that even though their own families are in trouble … their trouble isn’t as bad as mine appears to them.

They make their judgements based on the little – very little – I share.

It may seem like I am a motor mouth; but I actually share very little about my family. I only share what I feel will be of some benefit to others – the rest, I keep to myself. It is no one else’s business.

And it irritates me that people come to me thinking I am an expert on heartbreak, and then feel free to come to conclusions about my life when they know basically nothing about my life (with Bob, or with my kids) as a whole.

They came to me; I did not go to them.

Beyond their quest to seek immediate comfort by asking surface questions to deep familial issues in their own lives, my personal life is off limits.

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/01/glass-house-christians_17.html) 

I am more than Bob’s Widow. 

I am more than an abandoned mother.

I am still ME: VAL – a person that has a life separate from The Grim Reaper’s pivot point; and the kid’s narcissistic angsts.

Everyone’s life is their own journey. What works for me, may not work for anyone else: my life is not their life, even if they feel there are similarities.

I am doing my best not to overthink, too, in this neverendingly government incarceration … and wet, dreary, gray clouded winter skies.

I am trying to move forward.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HyR_IidsP5E)

There is nothing left of the life I had for 44 years – I am doing my best to rebuilt from the shattered fragments. It is not easy: the slate has been wiped clean. As if those 44 years never happened at all. Only the memories keep me grounded and sane. I am exhausted on all levels … emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually.

I am in no position to take on other people’s issues.

That is what Elohim is for: they need to go to Him.

Does that make me a selfish bitch?

Maybe.

I don’t know.

All I do know is that I’m going through my own life upheavals.

And I am doing it alone – partly because I need to, and partly because there is no one else on Earth, I can turn to.

I am going through my own confusing time.

I am dealing with my own mortality: I was with Bob from the time he went into ER locally, until he breathed his last breath this side of Heaven, in a small hospital room in the next State across the River.

I am pretty sure I will breathe my last breath this side of Heaven, alone.

And I am equally sure my friends seeking peace as they ponder their own mortality, and quiz me on what it feels like to waltz with the Grim Reaper, do not want to hear that reality. I try to answer their queries as honestly as I can – as compassionately as I can – without scaring the hell out of them, or losing too much blood myself, from the healing scab they messed with.

I am still reeling from the final severance from the kids (their choices). They totally messed up their lives – the Grim Reaper messed up my life: when Bob breathed out his last breath, as shallow as it was, it blew my entire world apart.

People ask me how I am dealing.

But they really don’t want the truth.

They don’t want to know that I really don’t have answers for them.

They don’t want to know the reality that death changes the “fit” of old life with the new life.

Or that as bad as they think things are now … the death of a spouse, or the death of a family unit blown to smithereens is so confusing, there is no escape from the prolonged shockwaves.

They do not want to know that I am exhausted on all levels: emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually – which often leads to second guessing, which leads to overthinking.

They want me to soothe them in what they are personally going through, and overthinking; and in truth, no one is benefitted.

I can lend them an ear, but if they truly want answers to their queries, they will have to turn to Elohim.

Turning to Elohim is how I “deal”.

GOKOTTA - Rising With The Birds

Bob passed this {act} to me when he stepped off Earth – I used to be a night-bird (all my life until recently); now I am keeping his early-bird hours.

Weird.

But I find that I am really enjoying this strange new affliction now ;-)

NO MORE PREMIUM BADASS CARD

This blogger's post (posted at the end of this post) struck a note with me because I have held a Premium Gold Card in the Badass Club since I was knee high to a grasshopper.

And I was married to a gentle giant for 44 years that covered my ass when my badassedness took me to the brink (in other words, when the other badass was ready to make their move, they took a careful look at my gentle giant and backed down because they didn't know he was a teddy bear: I was the wild card, fearless and ready to rumble).

My husband did, at one point in our marriage, show that he, too, had a badass streak when he stood by my side and fought injustice WITH me when the circus monkeys thought they could raise hell over our driveway; and WE WON the case they tried to try in Court (the Judge wasn't having any of that - and Bob showed his teeth to the monkeys!) … but, generally, Bob was just my gentle giant – and I preferred him that way: his character and balanced temperament was a direct answer to prayer when I discussed husband requirements with Elohei ;-) I could never have lived with a man like the one my sister Ramona married; arrogant, mean-tempered, violent, and egotistical. ALL of that human nature was, I am sure, in Bob too: he just chose to rise above it.

I can be even-tempered too; but on occasion, I would go off the rails.  

Specifically, when “on principal” instances would occur.

My daughter always tells people, "My Mom is a handful". She is embarrassed of my “on principal” fearlessness. Oh well … our children have embarrassed us too on occasion.

But since joining the Senior Citizen's Club, I have to constantly assure her that at 62 years of age, I am not up to kicking anyone's ass anymore, and since December 2018, I haven't renewed my Badass Premium Gold Card.

I AM IN RETIREMENT ...

I have officially joined the ZFG/SOABN/SOTOPS Club.

And I LIKE it.

I think Bob was always a card-carrying member of the ZFG Club; he'd be pleased I have finally grown up and "get it".

The world has changed (it changed quite a while ago, but I always had backup until recently).

And I am now a woman alone.

It is time now for this wild card badass to settle down.

https://www.widowbadass.com/2019/05/18/when-badassery-goes-too-far/

PERIOD OF ADJUSTMENT

Now that I find myself suddenly alone, I have been sticking pretty close to home. Bob and I used to day-trip a couple times a month, and occasionally go on mini vacas that could be as short as over-night – or as long as a week on the road before meandering back to our driveway.

But now those days are over.

So, I have some leftover $$$ after bills are paid and incidentals at home are restocked.

Today, while grocery shopping and running all over town to find things that need replaced at home, I stopped at Ross’s (I rarely shop at Ross’s – have only done so twice in the 2 decades the store has been here in Longview) to buy some summer sheet sets … and came home with quite a bit more :-)

I couldn’t believe I actually bought girly sheet sets; but I did … and I like them. Smooth cotton sheets to replace the winter flannel sheets. White cotton with floral print: both sets. I don’t believe we ever had floral sheets on our bed. Ever. Not because Bob would have nixed the idea … but because there was a man in the house, and I wanted things to be neutral. Our marriage was always a 50-50 thing. Now half of that 50-50 thing is no longer present.

So, floral sheets on our bed will be a new experience.

An adjustment.

After I bought the sheet sets, I meandered through the clothing department just to check it out, and bought a pair of summer shorts and 3 blousy tops. They were all reasonably priced at a good deal a piece, so into the cart they went … and to the Fitting Room I went. While I was in there, I spotted a shiny penny in the floor of the cubicle I was in; so, I smiled and pocketed it:

“Don't pass by that penny when you're feeling blue. It may be a ‘found penny’ from heaven that an Angel's tossed to you.” ~C. Mashburn

Leaving the Fitting Rooms department, I passed by the cookware aisle – and had added 2 more items to my cart …

Bought these mini pie pans at Ross's too - they are perfect for my solo eating requirements. They are quality pans, and the price was right.

I also bought this set of 4 ramekins at Ross's: a little under a $1 each. Some recipes are hard to break down in accurate measurements, so these 4 added to my 2 at home, will make baking those difficult-to-break-down recipes easier to manage and enjoy ;-)

And before I reached the cashier, 3 decorative pillows had found their way into my cart too – everything I bought at Ross’s was on sale today:

These lumbar support pillows were on sale at Ross's (half price!) ... so they came home with me. They do not have a memory foam interior pillow, but they will do to support the lumbar region and give some comfortable support.

This big poof pillow was on sale - for third off original price; so – it went into the cart also.

The Blue Rose pillows look 'right at home’ in our home (a girly adjustment in this aging tom-boy's life) – and I am thinking my friends' backs will thank me when they come to visit.

This over-sized poof pillow fit's Bob's chair real good. Now I don’t have to pack my pillow with me every time I want to sit in Bob's chair ;-)

My back pillow can stay put now. No more musical chairs ...

A bit further down the road, I found these campy chair mats at the Dollar Store, and just had to have them ...

I spotted these chairs mats at the $1 Store and they reminded me of Cher in her Laverne skits: I laughed with that skit's decor playing though my head all the way to the cashier aisle. And, I swear, as I was tying them to the chair backs at home, I could almost hear Bob chuckling because he could always read my mind: we were that much atuned to each other. LOL

I can see I will have to crochet matching chair booties ... I can do that by making Alyna's slippers up first and making the matching booties with the leftover Slipper yarn I bought.

I made 2 more shopping stops along the way home.

At JoAnne's, I bought a bag full of yarn to crochet Christmas Slippers with (YES! I AM already thinking that far ahead. LOL). When I spoke with the Spokesperson for the Hospital Donation Foundation yesterday, she said they are pretty well stocked up at the moment and probably won't need anything more until around September sometime; so I will utilize the 'downtime' months to get family handcrafted items taken care of.

While I was paying for the mound of colorful skeins of yarn, I noticed the Butterfly door mat off to the side, and decided to add that to the tally too. The butterflies reminded me of Bob's new status in life:

The butterfly is a symbol for the Resurrection. The butterfly, has for generations since the birth of Christianity, symbolized life after death because of the butterfly’s life cycle from a lowly caterpillar to a soaring, beautiful, almost ethereal creature.

And it was on sale for half off. Good deal all the way around :-D

And last – but not least – I pulled in at Lowe’s to get some 7w nite light bulbs for my nite lights, only to find that they are no longer available and won’t be restocked …

The light bulbs I wanted has been phased out! So I had to get LED nite lights instead.

No longer available - it looks like I am going to be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st Century and forced to come to terms with the adjustments.

In my defense, looking around at everything new in our home, all I can say is that I am currently going through a period of adjustment.

And from the look of most of the things purchased, I seem to be shifting gears and leaning towards creating a more feminine home environment now that my man has permanently vacated (physically, anyway); and I am not looking for a replacement.

It is weird buying girly stuff because I am not, by nature, a girly-girl.

But, for the moment it seems to {fit} this period of adjustment I have been thrust into.

So, I am going with the flow.

The changes don’t diminish Bob’s presence in my life: they are necessary to my moving forward independently towards a life I did not/do not want. And I am not doing anything underhanded – Bob KNEW I would make life changes if he graduated before me: we talked about {it} periodically since he died for the 2^nd time in 1981.

Bob understood that I would need a fresh canvas by which to work through my period of adjustment in order for my heart to heal.

He knew that the changes I would make would never erase him from my life because I love him, and will love him to the day I, too, physically die.

I love you Babe.

Always.

OX

MY EMOTIONAL GPS IS FILLED WITH STATIC

People keep asking me how my Valentine’s Day went.

How to answer that question?

It came … and went.

No big deal this year; just another day in another month in a new year with no particular importance in my life now. On any other Valentine’s Day I would have been woken up with kisses from my husband and I would have acted surprised when he presented me with a big fancy heart shaped box of chocolates assortment and a laughed through happy tears while reading the comical mushy card he would have given me too, always marveling that this handsome man so gentle and lovingly thoughtful could have favored me for 44 years with his unconditional and exclusive love.

That did not happen this year – and it will not happen ever again in the years to come.

My in-laws did call and drop by to wish me a “Happy Valentine’s Day!”, giving me hugs and kisses, candy and flowers; and I did appreciate the thoughts because it is not something I have ever gotten from them before. They are trying, and I am trying. To wish me to be "happy" on a day set aside for lovers while my lover is absent, and will forever be absent, was insensitive and highlighted a lack of comprehension on their parts ... but I really cannot fault them because they were following through on social graces and genuinely trying to cheer me up. And in doing so, they overlooked the fact that I will never have a “happy” anything ever again. They don’t understand – and won’t understand until they, personally, go through this heartbreak themselves. I gave them a graceful pass as Bob would have done.

And my sister and her husband dropped by to cheer me up … and that went flat in a hurry when she asked if I had given any thought to companionship again “because Bob would want you to go on with your life”: my emotional GPS was suddenly filled with static. I just looked at her and couldn’t believe what I was hearing! My husband had only been gone from my side for 2 months. My husband was my everything; and he will continue to BE my husband. Period. I am not interested in replacing him. EVER. I am 62 years old for Pete’s sake! The insensitivity is staggering. And what does she know about what my husband would want for me? ((((I)))) think ((((I)))) know best what is best for me and what my husband would have wanted. Bottom line is that I will do what I think for my life now that I am flying solo: no one else gets to decide. They may have opinions, but their opinions mean very little to me.

So.

That is how my “happy” Valentine’s Day 2019 went.

Family members try to embrace me in various ways, but they don’t know how to help me. I don’t know how to help me. They are trying to help me become my old self again.

But I can’t be that old self any more.

I have been introduced to a new emotion with a disturbing depth they do not yet know.

I have lived through too much since August 30^th, 2018.

Unwelcome grief has changed me at my innermost core of being.

I feel completely alone … despite being surrounded by people, either at home or in public. It’s not the kind of aloneness felt in situations of physical solitude – it’s the kind of aloneness that comes with unrelenting and aching sorrow felt at the absence of my husband’s presence in my life. It is hard to find purpose and a redirection for my life. I am trying to move forward, but I seem to be stuck in the middle of this road called life’s highway with no sense of direction. My emotional GPS is filled with static overload and I am lost. Purpose seems futile without him.

Since Bob went into ER August 30^th, and stepped off this planet earth on December 14^th, 2018, I have spent, and will spend every holiday alone. Not because people are excluding me, but because half of me is now gone from my earthly life forever.

An irreparable hole has been left in my being and it can’t be filled with platitudes and well wishes.

It can’t be altered when unsightly or hid away because it is an inconvenience to others.

Another cannot be patched in to repair the hole with a new version of what cannot be put back together again.

Every empty holiday during Bob’s agonizing hospital stays, and every holiday following his graduation to a higher living on a higher plane, reminded me … and reminds me of what I was losing and what I have lost – and prompts me to view each day I have left as precious in their own right. Holidays don’t seem that important to me anymore.

I don’t need to reminded by a ‘special day’ every month of any given year to prompt me to be kind or loving, and to show those emotions at every moment. I have lived my entire married life defusing petty differences, cherishing my loved ones, hugging, holding, kissing, and expressing love at any and every moment never knowing when it may be the last. Bob and I always understood that life could never be taken for granted. We never minced words or held back emotions.

And now that I am flying solo, Bob would want me to be brave, to live boldly and take risks worth taking. And Elohei will strengthen me and guide me through life’s choppy and treacherous waters.

The holidays are empty, but my life does not have to be.

I can make this sorrowful and sorrowing pain work for me by reminding me that I was deeply and passionately loved and am loved still. It reminds me that I experience the pain because I lived the joy. The memories keep my heart beating and activate my brain cells, pushing me forward in hope and infuse me with energy to face and embrace a new lobo life while honoring my husband and the life we shared.

It is okay to feel the emptiness as long as I don’t get lost in it; as long as I also embrace living and embracing the love that still surrounds me. Though that love that now surrounds me is not the same love my husband showered me with, it is still love and it is worthy of getting my attention.

It is important to make each day memorable and never waste a precious second.

We are all here for a reason.

Life is for living.

And someday my GPS won’t be filled with static.

Someday I will find my sense of direction again and my life will focus again on a purpose.

INSOMNIA ... TINGED WITH THE BROKEN EDGES OF WIDOWHOOD

I’d like to blame this afternoon’s burning eyes and punk feeling on widowhood – but that wouldn’t be a truth. The truth is that I have always been an insomniac and counting midnight sheep never helped the sandman find his way to me. Could be the poker hand I drew in the game of life, or it could be the fallout of living in a highly dysfunctional family unit from birth to the day I got married. Doesn’t really matter.

What does matter is that I have not slept a lick for the past 2 days.

The current bout with insomnia is tinged with the broken edges of widowhood though, and this is the crappiest bout of insomnia I have ever had to stagger through. Insomnia and widowhood are both difficult walks of life regardless of your personal and particular reasons to be experiencing either.

To be totally truthful, I do have to admit that I slept for 13 hours STRAIGHT Wednesday evening: went to bed early – 5:30 p.m. – with a ferocious headache and didn’t wake up again until 6:30 a.m … not even a quick potty trip down the hall ;-) I had been feeling punk all week, and I guess the punkiness peaked Wednesday evening. So yesterday I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; and didn’t sleep a lick all night long :-( This is fairly typical of my DNA, and my husband came to understand that I was, by DNA, a bona fide night-owl who would consistently soar during the twilight and midnight hours for days on end, and then crash heavily for the better part of a day before catching the updraft and making it fairly normally through the rest of the month’s days. It had always been like this for me. And it became our norm throughout our 44 years together. The electric bills could be staggering!

Gotta find a way to curb that natural bent now, and drastically curb the electric usage. One way I have done that recently since he left this earth, and the Social Security Administration cut his benefits by 25%, is to locate the correct box and unpack (Yes! There are still boxes we had not yet gotten around to unpacking since we moved into this place) the little battery operated headlamp he bought for me 12 years ago for nighttime chicken coop checks while letting my wolf out for her nightly romps and duty calls when we were living on our country acreage on Westside Highway; I loved my man for his loving thoughtfulness – he was always thinking of me and ways to make things easier for me. I miss that now. And I use the headlamp for insomnia book readings in bed now. It not only eliminates the need for electricity while reading, but in a way I cannot put into words, the presence of the headlamp is like having a small piece of him in bed with me still; when I turn on that headlamp, I see clearly his twinkling eyes and slow sexy smile. I miss him alongside me in our huge california king-sized bed.

Help me, Yeshua.

Whereas insomnia is not a new thing to me, widowhood is. And I am trying to come to terms with it, as I did with insomnia: but unlike insomnia, widowhood has never been part of my DNA – it was suddenly thrust upon me and I am not sure yet how to deal with it.

Widowhood is worse that dry sandy eyes, worse than a ferocious headache, worse than a sour stomach; it is beyond painful. No words can ever adequately describe the feeling. No workbook or support group actions can explain the meaning behind the word that now describes my life. I have been changed as a person and can’t put a decisive finger on exactly how I have been changed – all I know for sure is that I will never be the same person I was before December 14^th, 2018.

I am still a wife … and yet; not. I still deeply and passionately love a man who no longer walks this earth – but I see him as clearly as the day I married him, as clearly as the days he held our daughter, granddaughter, and grandson so tenderly in his big, gentle hands. I see him as clearly as I did in the months he struggled to stay alive for my sake – and as clearly as the last breath he ever took this side of Heaven: and I was thanking Elohim for my insomnia every one of those endlessly sleepless nights, even though they were hard nights to get through. Sleep did not rob me of those precious moments fleeting too quickly – and yet painfully moving forward so slowly. When those endless nights ended I had been bumped from wife to widow in a heartbeat. It happened so suddenly that I was momentarily startled that I had been bumped: my identity and place in this life forever changed.

There are the obvious pitfalls of grieving … sorrow, rapid mood swings, exhaustion, loss of identity, feelings of uselessness; and so much more that words cannot be put to because they are indescribable. These are the things people talk about most often. These are the things written about in self-help workbooks for the Grief~Share Meets, factors in fallout behavior, the social norm, and the expected. But there is another part of widowhood that the grieving would never expect – we, who are grieving, now live in a glass house of grief.

We are judged for how we grieve.

Regardless of your kind of loss people are going to tell you that you are doing it wrong, you should be doing it differently, and they know the way to properly grieve better than you do. They will fill you with platitudes, useless comments and countless books you are told that you should read to help you find your path forward.

We should not be judged as to how we process our pain – but we will be. People can’t help themselves in their rush to pontificate.

Let me tell you a little of how I deal with my new life status.

When my husband stepped off this planet we were Seniors, though we didn’t think of ourselves as ‘old’ - I was 61 years old & he was 69 years old, and we couldn’t understand why every doctor was treating him and talking to him as if he were an old man; he didn’t even act old or really look old even on his deathbed. When he took his last breath and I came back to the home we had shared, I turned all of my energy to taking care of business on the home-front; the tying up of loose ends to give me hope, and to help me make it through just one more day.

I probably worked harder at it than I should have but it was the only time of the day I felt normal.

It was the only time of the day I was not overwhelmed with the reality of my new reality.

It was my saving grace; and exactly what I needed at that heartbreaking point of my life.

For this behavior, I was judged. By those who claim to love me.

Here’s the kicker: most of the things people commonly judge on I wasn’t doing:

I didn’t stumble through my days on a drunken haze

I didn’t turn to drugs – not even pharmaceutical drugs

I didn’t go out and party hardy – I didn’t go out of the house at all for weeks

I didn’t stop eating – I was well fed with at least 1 healthy meal a day

I kept myself clean – I practiced healthy personal hygiene

I didn’t become an emotionless zombie – I read books and sang songs

I didn’t become careless - my home was safe

I didn’t alter my daily routine – I kept my daily routine as regular as it could be, given all I had experienced at hospitals and the downtown Social Security Office, where the shocks were fairly equal in the emotional shocks given and withstood.

However … here is where I freely admit that I failed in the eyes of others:

I pretty much stopped communication with everyone unless forced to talk with them. I just did not have the energy it took to have contact with family members, loving friends, and business talking heads – at times it was more than I could bare just to get the necessities out of the way.

As much as I could, I removed myself from social situations that I found painful. Candy, I could not and cannot avoid. But I do look for ways to get around contact with her.

I have always had a very small threshold for anyone’s bullshit, and the threshold is shrinking even smaller now. I am a survivor. That survival mode honed early on in my life – even before my life was joined to my husband’s life – led to my own level of thriving. My thriving often looked different than our society would classify as thriving, but for me, I was rocking my life, even if only in survival mode.

For the first time in my entire life, I was faced with being truly alone, and I began to take scary tentative steps to live a solo life, not sure of my footing and a bit scared of making wrong choices that would govern the rest of my earthly life: where we used to make joint decisions on which direction to take, now I am walking our path alone and I have no clear direction as of yet. But one thing I do know … my husband loved living life, and by continuing forward as he would have if he were still among the living here in earth, I honor him; and honoring him honors us. We both trusted Elohei to guide our footsteps, and so I am seeking that same guidance now. I need it more than ever before.

Widows never get over a great loss; we absorb it, and it shapes who we are, and who we become.

I learned early on to do what is right for me on this personal wilderness experience.

I love to talk about my husband - and I find peace in saying his name. That’s my choice inside my glass house; it makes me happy not to feel the need to purge him like he never existed. Rather I’ve decided to keep his memory alive and allow it to shape my beautiful future. A future he will still be very much a part of, though it has been forever altered by his physical absence.

Regardless of how we conduct ourselves … or how we do not conduct ourselves, widows will be judged.

We now live in a glass house. And every passerby feels free to stare and take a long look through our walls, and make piously suggestive comments.

Every move a widow makes will be questioned, examined, and well-aimed nuggets of earnest wisdom will be thoughtlessly thrown at you for your own good. People won’t expect you to be okay – though they will keep asking if you are okay – and they will look for ... and find ... any crack in your composure to say you are not. If you live in survival mode, they say you are in shock and out of touch with reality. If you have a particularly bad day and crumble under the exhaustion of trying to maintain composure while trying to stay upright on shaky ground, they will say you are weak and losing ground.

Is this a fair assessment – NO

Is this the reality of an insensitive society – YES

Widows can expect this behavior from nearly anyone who has never walked our path. Those who have never had their hearts cut in two cannot imagine your unspeakable, traumatic pain; and they don’t understand how you can function in the midst of the constant undulating and searing pain of it.

Any action or comment on your part will be scrutinized and judged. If your bullshit meter reaches its bullshit limit, you will be perceived as an insensitive bitch. If you decide to avoid the bullshit sandpits and sidestep them on safer ground, you will be perceived as an insensitive bitch. Bullshitter’s and those who stand in solidarity with bullshitter’s will always view you as a menace no matter what you do.

However.

While there is nothing you can do about that reality … remember that other people’s perception of you – and about you is not your reality. You don’t have to accept their judgment, and it does not have to make you as inimical as they are. Give those who judge you grace and forgive them for what they can’t possibly, or are unwilling, to understand.

That does not mean you have to accept their behavior – perhaps it would be better for everyone concerned to place a comfortable distance contact to allow you the time you need as you figure out your steps forward. No one else gets to dictate your steps. You get that right. It is, after all, your life.

Judgment is part of human nature and when you accept that often peoples’ own insecurities play a large role in the judgment of others – you make your walls impermeable to their nuggets, even if you can’t stop their stares.

You define you.

You must walk this road alone and in a way and length of time that takes you forward.

There is no rulebook to fit all scenarios. All books are authored by people putting their own agendas forward … write your own chapters that will guide your own life.

There is no right or wrong direction for those who grieve.

There is no correct time frame.

Own your glass house.

Reinforce your walls for the nuggets that will inescapably come your way. Don’t let the opinionated shards shape who you are or who you become.

And, if like me, you too deal with consistent and constant insomnia that is now tinged with the sharp broken edges of widowhood, remember that though you are alone, you are never really alone.