Words In Silence

One would think that now, after five years of widowhood, I would have                 adjusted. In a sense I have.

No longer do I burst into tears at a sunset, or gorgeous flowers, or
soft music. No longer do I cry into the night. Only certain chords
send me back to the constricted throat and heavy chest.

As long as I remain in the present, I survive. I have reached a state
of settled sadness. It has settled so far into me, that friends are often
surprised ( perhaps aghast) that those feelings are still there.

In talking about another death none of us wanted to see, one of my friends
raised her hand heavenward, and said “ I want to say, no! not that one! take
someone else!”. I went through that, and still the thoughts are there in the
cracks of my consciousness. Yet I know in another part of me, that God is
omniscient, which means He does not make mistakes, even though He weeps
with us at our loss.

I’ve talked with other widows ( those not in a state of resistance to their feelings),
and we all say the same thing, somewhere, perhaps hidden deeply, we still feel
the emptiness and always will. For me, the truth of this is more freeing than
denial that the feeling is there.

We still bear the unspoken words of aloneness, the staggering task of being
‘sole survivor’, the knowledge that the person we’ve needed most is no longer
here. Somehow we continue, either resolving situations alone or with professionals: The CPA, the attorney, the Financial Counselor, the car dealer,
the Bank, the Insurance agent.

Always there are words we stuff down, decide not to say, wait for the time
alone to rant and rave. Or we find each other and commensurate together,
pull ourselves out of the deep hole, and move ahead with the lives we live now.

These are the things I consider after 5 years alone.