Widows

A friend (?) said to me “...... so now you are a widow.” I stopped in my tracks she was right I was, in fact, a widow. I wasn't wearing black nor was I hiding behind a veil. I was embarrassed by my pale blue trousers and my white shirt. I wanted to go home and change. Change what? My clothes, my hairdo, my make-up what did it matter I would still be a widow....... The Widow Folley!
Being a widow is quite different to being a spinster or a bachelor girl. A spinster implies, old grey with bun, sexless, dowdy, dull, dry, stern a school teacher. A bachelor girl gives the impression of sexy, young, party animal with fun job probably in advertising and loads of friends of both sexes. Where does a widow stand?
I'll tell you where a widow stands..... she stands alone! After 5, 10, 15, 20 or even 50 years of being a part of a couple, the other/better half, suddenly you are only half. Half a person? Your other half is no longer at your side either out shopping, at the cinema, in bed or on the sofa just watching television. The awful 'table for 1' in a restaurant, having to decide on your own if your bum looks to big in the new (black) jeans. Is that what being a widow means...... I suppose so but there is another side.
The monstrous loneliness that envelopes you like a tidal wave. This wave can move in at any time and any place. It can sweep across the table at a dinner party where you are surrounded by friends all of whom are carefully tip toeing around any subject that might create a memory. It could be on the bus with you or in an art gallery where suddenly for no reason at all you feel awfully and terminally alone. Does this ever get better? I don't think so not if you are a widow.
What about the indecision? How does one come to terms with that. There just isn't anybody to discuss the pros and cons of anything with. Sure there are friends and family all ready to offer advice, help and suggestions but to be fair they all have their own agenda for you and anything they think is subjective. Before, when you were part of a couple, discussion about life changing decisions was a shared thing..... you both wanted what was good for both of you . You discussed, debated and made all the decisions in unison and always felt that there was backup as you charged into the unknown. Lots of widows do have backup in their children but its a funny thing going from being the leader of the pack to the ageing relative who needs help.
Touch! Now there is something we all take for granted. But when you're a widow who is going to touch you and I don't mean shake a hand or hug you in sympathy. I am talking about a back wash or a back scratch, holding hands in the movies, being guided across a busy street . Touch is what I miss more than anything. I'll not even go into sex....... cause widows and sex aren't synonymous, but after however many years of quality, loving sex suddenly nothing.
In the words of Noel Coward. “How potent cheap music is.” Even the dreadful cacophony that you both hared brings back memories of hating it together. The music you enjoyed on the other hand is charged with sentiment and memories. Quo Vadis? Send the Hi-fi into coventry? Box up the CD Collection and give it to Oxfam along with the sentimental books, DVDs, ornaments, crockery, paintings, linen and memories.
I wonder who goes into Oxfam and purchases (cheap) a box of the Widow Folleys memories.