It's All A Crap Shoot

This weekend at the nursing home, a lot of wives were in visiting with their husbands. For the first time, I felt some anger and resentment simmering underneath my kind and composed exterior. I was reminded of the role I played as loving/devoted wife caring for my sick husband the years he was hospitalized and in rehab. These are older couples - one of the men is 93. My poor husband died at age 54 and I was 44. I definitely felt some unfairness with the fact that these couples ended up having more time together than my husband and I had. Their children are grown, there are grandchildren, the mortgage has been paid off. They were fortunate to have traveled and played golf together in retirement. It astounds me when I think about my husband maybe having lived to age 93 - how short his life really ended up being.

In the natural order of things, my husband and I should have had that regular and predictable life these couples were fortunate enough to have had. But we didn't and I know there are other younger couples out there dealing with sick spouses and young kids too. It's all a crap shoot in the end. Bitching out about the unfairness playing out in front of my eyes doesn't get me anywhere.

I saw myself in these wives and I put aside my anger for the extra time they've had and brought out the compassion because I know what lies ahead for them.

A Spilled Cup of Coffee

I accidentally spilled a cup of hot coffee on my hand at work earlier this week. It wasn't super hot so there was no burning but the initial shock startled me and I had tears in my eyes. The tears were partly for the first sting of pain but what followed were feelings of self-pity. The thought crossed my mind that here I was at a nursing home where my job for eight hours is to care for people in need - providing them a bit of comfort when I can, as well as helping them with physical tasks they are helpless to do on their own.

I then thought about the three years I spent as a caregiver to my husband during his illness and the care I provided for my dearly beloved Mom. Then the only parenting all these years...

This widowhood gig sure has demanded a lot of care giving to others with not much back. To a great extent I am a natural caregiver which is why I'm working as a nursing assistant in the first place. But still. The incident with the spilled coffee made me realize how lacking the widowed can be from small daily doses of comfort and support that are generally taken for granted. I just wanted to be able to come home and hold out my hand and have it tenderly held and looked at by someone clucking in sympathy. Just a little TLC to refill the care giving bank that's already over-drafted.

It just keeps adding up over time. The emotional and physical isolation of living without a partner, the loneliness and the lack of daily support. It doesn't go away - it's a constant, dull ache. Every time I come home to an empty residence (still have trouble saying apartment). Every time I fall and skin my knee or am having a tough day and long for a hug. Life isn't meant to be lived this way - we all need comfort, love and support. The sad reality is that there are those of us out here living on our own without those necessary hugs and pats (verbal and physical) on the back. There is no solution. And that makes it even tougher. An empty home is an empty home. There is no one's shoulder to sniffle into to garner some sympathy. What else can I say?

Well, I guess there is something I will say. From my perspective of being six and a half years out, the absolutely worst part of widowhood is the loneliness and being on my own. Handling and climbing through the hell of my husband's death was a piece of cake compared to the ongoing struggle of having to continue to trudge through life on my lonesome.

Not Letting Myself Go

I'm not sure why this Valentine's Day is hitting me harder than those in the past. Maybe it is the harsh winter we've had, our financial hardship, unemployment stress or that Sam is not living here anymore. So although I have a special someone in my life, it is still a Valentine's Day devoid of flowers, candy or a card.

I picked up a few goodies for the boys and I. Some candy on sale and little cakes in heart shapes which we'll have for dessert tomorrow. Both boys are at Valentine dances. My youngest didn't want to attend and wasn't planning on it. But at the last minute, literally two hours before having to leave for dinner, he got a frantic call from a friend whose date was unable to go because of getting so drunk last night. This friend asked my son to accompany her free of any associated costs. Although, he still wasn't thrilled at going he felt worse not helping out and leaving his friend in a lurch. So he agreed to attend and we had a busy hour trying to locate his suit (buried in his closet), then iron it, find his dress shoes, tie, etc. We accomplished all this and he looked very handsome when I dropped him off at the girl's home. I told him to enjoy the unexpected dinner out and have a good time.

I needed film for my camera but did not want to run into any people I know of the married and middle-aged variety picking out cards and candy for their spouses. So I purposely went to a Walgreen's on the outskirts of town - not the one I usually go to right down the street. It didn't help any because I saw a travel baseball and football mom shopping in the card section. I walked past her without looking in her direction and thankfully avoided any contact.

For some reason I've been fixating on all the middle-aged flaws I see in women my age. General sloppiness, roots showing, tummy bulges, dowdy outfits. Yet these women are all getting Valentines this weekend, including the nice mom of my youngest son's date tonight.

I think some of my irritation about this has to do with the fact that these women have the option of letting themselves go. I do not. Widowhood has robbed me of that too. Not that I want myself to gain weight or dress sloppily. But it would be nice to feel comfortable and in a stable relationship where I don't have to worry about gaining five pounds or going a few more days before coloring my hair. I feel as a 50-year-old widow that I have more of a responsibility to look good because I don't have the security of a wedding ring on my finger.

I know that being married does not guarantee anyone that they'll stay married. My experience has sure proven otherwise twice! But I think that when you're in a long-term relationship there is a comfort level there that allows you to put down your guard and not have to strive to look like a "10" everyday. You're judged on far more than looks which is the number one criteria in beginning relationships or those where a formal commitment has not been established.

Yes, this is all trivial and superficial. And I'm not particularly proud of myself for reducing myself to this level. But it is what I'm feeling. And I do wish that my life was more stable, secure and that even I was one of those less than glamorous moms this Valentine's weekend. Tonight I think I just might trade my youthful attractiveness and long locks for a box of Russell Stover's from a gassy grey haired guy who could stand to lose a few pounds.

Today I am grateful:

1. That the 30 degree temperature outside feels like a heat wave.
2. That both boys will have nice dinners and be out with friends at school dances. At least they're having a nice Valentine celebration.
3. That I hit pay dirt at the grocery store with some 99 cent deals on ground turkey and turkey burgers.
4. That we'll have enough food to get through the month because of these meat deals.
5. For heart-shaped pizzas.

Feeling Sorry For Myself

I got to thinking about this topic after reading the post of a widow who has an advice type blog, which I read. She has a tough love, Dr. Phil kind of attitude in regard to widows feeling sorry for themselves. Although I try to get through my days in as positive frame as possible, there are moments that I do allow myself to feel tragically sorry for myself. And what of it? Why is it such a big deal for widows to have periods of being down about their situations?

I remember my second husband getting terribly annoyed with me for griping about the hardships of my life. Then, my therapist kindly pointed out that I was merely describing my day, which I had a right to do. It just so happened that my days were filled with a lot of hardship. Merely relating them to him was not actually griping, which he took it to be. But anyway, say I had been doing so - why is that looked upon so negatively by the general population? Why are widows supposed to be able to constantly rise above their situations and present themselves to the world as stalwart survivors?

Some days it would be nice to put aside the strength and smiles and show my true self to the world. I'd skip the shower, throw on rumpled clothing and present a grim and glum demeanor. That is sometimes how I feel inside even when there is a smile on my face.

I guess I just don't understand why the widowed can't be allowed the indulgence of some occasional self-pity. The world hasn't been lining up at my door offering much compassion or understanding. And it seems to me from the blogs I read here, that those widowed are doing their best to get through their days. Some days may be better than others but all are trying to live bravely on.

What is so bad about self-pity anyway? I haven't come across anyone whom seems mired in it. Why would people be against the widowed providing themselves a little empathy? "Poor me." I am poor right now in spirit and wealth. Why should I pretend otherwise? Yes, I am grateful for what I have but I also have a right to be despondent over what I don't.

I'm raising this topic because I have found on my widowhood journey that the world hasn't provided much sympathy and I have been criticized for "not getting over it sooner" and complaining too much about my life as a widow, etc. It is actually one of the reasons I wanted to start blogging - so I could have more contact with others in my situation.

It is interesting that the woman whose blog started my thoughts about this ended one of her posts by stating that so many of us widows seem to need outside validation for what we are feeling. I agree with her on this that I have felt that way. I have needed and wanted to connect with other widows to know that my feelings haven't been out in left field or that I've been unreasonable/crazy. But she makes the point that none of us should need this validation. Our feelings are what they are and we should not dismiss them or not hold them to be true unless someone else agrees with them.

So on that note, I am going to take her line of reasoning (whether it ends up being contradictory or not) and say to myself that self-pity is okay. It is where I am. I have a right to feel it. And to even wallow in it! When I compare what other women fret and moan about (chipped manicures, not being able to match up curtains exactly to the furniture slipcovers) I think I'm way entitled.

Today I am grateful:

1. For the rainy weather today. I love the rain as much as the sun. I think the rain slows us all down a bit and that is needed in our lives once in awhile.
2. For the cooler temperature.
3. For Brown-Eyed Susan flowers.
4. For the fall mums being planted at places of business and even at the high school. They brighten my day even in the rain.
5. For having enough gas in the tank to get to work and back today (I hope - payday isn't til tomorrow).