Being a widow sucks in all kinds of ways. There’s dealing with constant tears, sadness, depression, new financial realities, loneliness, and the list goes on and on. I soon found out that losing my husband also meant losing a major part of my identity. Who was I now in this new and very different life?
I was so lost, thrown into a deep black hole of nothingness and sadness. Before this nightmare, I had been a wife of 22 years. A half of a unit—a unit that should have stayed just that, and not be ripped apart. How do you go from being so intertwined with someone, someone who was always there for you, and you for him—from being a couple all these years—to suddenly being alone?
I found myself in an identity crisis. I wasn’t a wife anymore, I wasn’t a Mrs., wasn’t part of a great team of two anymore. No one to cook dinner for, no one to talk with in the evening, no one to wake up to in the morning. Just alone in a suddenly very big, empty house. What exactly was my purpose now? Sure, I was still a mother but my kids were grown; one moved out now and working, the other in college. I felt useless. Felt like I had no purpose. I didn’t know how to be single and alone anymore. Didn’t know what I should like, what I should have an interest in, how I should act. I didn’t know how to be just me. Me alone, without a husband as part of my life and my being.
I credit my sister with pointing me in the right direction to slowly discover this “new identity” and with getting me out of some major widow funk. It was like she was somehow able to reignite interests and passions I used to have. I started feeling joy here and there again. And I gradually began to figure out who I was as this single person and discovered that, yes, I can do these things on my own. I still have days where I’m as confused about it all as in the beginning but overall I’m okay and at peace with who I am today. I’ve learned a lot about myself throughout this struggle. And there is a strength and courage I never knew I had.