Stories of Widowhood

It is with the great loss of a loved one, that we discover the weakness of our emotions. I am often surprised at the swift onset of tears which appear without any seemingly poignant trigger. 

I went to the cinema recently with a friend to see Little Women. It holds an abundance of childhood memories, which unleashed a myriad of emotions. Tears flowed and in retrospect covered such a wide variety of issues.  

My mother was a tough person to live with. It’s only through discussions over the years since her death that my brother and I have come to terms with our dysfunctional childhood. Her temper and outbursts were often to her own detriment and thus triggered by the sadness that must have been held in her heart for so long. They often manifested themselves in terror and upset in our family. She must have been so sad inside to have wrought such a gamut of emotions, which in turn added to our deeply dysfunctional upbringing. 

Then I thought of my daughter and how, after reading the book, started to call me ‘marmee’. She still does when writing to me. 

Then of course to David my wonderful, funny random late husband and with his loss the deep, deep loneliness. 

I know I’m much more prone to tears now, so no longer try to challenge the reasons. And neither should you. They are all part of our grief and of course the broken hearts we carry that we ‘duck tape’ with our memories. 

I’m very honoured that I have a wonderful friend, with whom I can correspond, who truly understands the level of grief the loss of a partner brings. Loss of parents, siblings, friends and very sadly children are hard to bear but the loss of a partner with whom you have grown, aged and who have helped to mould who you have become over the decades of your relationship, is something totally different. They were often the better side of you. The ying to your yang. Your reason for sharing every part of your life… mind, body and soul. Intimate, secretive, earth moving, challenging, teaching, so many things, indeed… our everything. 

I can only say again that this level of despair does come in waves and sometimes surprises us by its ferocity and depth. But being below par physically or at ‘anniversary moments‘, we tend to indulge ourselves in raising memories to the fore that we know will end in floods of tears. (And remember it’s allowed, there’s no moratorium on grief). 

I admit, at Christmas, I indulged in a few hours of deep, deep despair and, I’ll admit, self pity. I didn’t think I could pull myself out of it. But as is often the case, my ‘mini me’ daughter sent me a photo of a song that had appeared by chance on their car radio, on the way to Christmas dinner with friends. It was Blackbird by The Beatles. One of, if not THE favourite of David’s eclectic mix of music. It both cheered me and changed my tears from distraught self pity to joy of memory. So losing a partner through bereavement is a bitter sweet existence. But we endure and oh those lovely memories…