Thursday, March 28, 2013

Growing Into A Widow

I was determined I wasn't going to call myself a widow.

I hated that word.  Widows are usually portrayed as old women.  The scary house down the street.  The widow lives there.  The crazy cat lady.  Her husband died leaving her a widow.  I'm not old.  I'm definitely not a crazy cat lady, at least not yet.  But I never realized one word could make me feel so powerless.  I wasn't going to be a widow.  I wasn't going to allow that word to control me.  It is WHAT I am not WHO I am.

Now, almost a year after Tin Man died, I have embraced the term widow and I wear it with pride.

I no longer feel powerless.  I no longer fear that word, and I no longer cringe when someone refers to me at a widow.

Being a widow is about strength.  About learning who you are when your world is crumbling around you.  Learning what you are made of.

Being a widow means learning to stand on your own.  Learning to function as a whole again instead of  something ripped in half.

Being a widow is like a battle scare.  I've been through hell and back and have risen from it.  I am no longer the person I was a year ago.  There is a large scar on my heart.  It will always be there, always be a reminder of who I once was and what I have lost.

I still have my good days and my bad days.  And the weirdest things make me cry without any notice.  This isn't an easy process and not something I can "get over" or move forward from in the blink of an eye.  I am learning day by day, and that's all I can expect from myself.

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