Purposeful Password
Wood & Co.
I shuffled into work 2 days after my husband died on December 31st, It seemed rational not crazy. I work a desk job in psychiatric hospital where crazy is understood. Besides family, my co-workers share the bulk of my weekdays. They would be supportive. Activity was slower than usual, being the week between Christmas and New Year. I told myself, end of the month tasks due did not require deep thinking. Signing into my computer a flag appeared to change my password. I selected the word Widow to privately try on my new moniker and change in marital status. Smugly, I thought this strategy would hasten my acceptance and buffer sadness.
Widow + numbers + symbols keyed smoothly. Visually it was simple to recognize and easy to remember. What surprised me was not feeling the word as my new identity. No emotion. Instead Widow equated with my mother. She lost her beloved, my father when they were both 57 years of age. Despite my semi-stupor- grief this caught my interest. That was forty years ago. My brain took an unexpected detour. Was this avoidance or grief refusing to be managed?
Every sign in, Widow evoked my mom and not me. I wondered what unfinished business might now demand my attention. The Widow password became routine. The contrasts of my mother’s widowhood and mine began to emerge. Our situations differed in our ages, having young children at home versus ours are adults. My dad was robust and strong until his cancer diagnosis. Gary had 20 years of cardiac and two years of vascular dementia before his cancer diagnosis. My dad was the financial provider. That was my role for the last few decades of our marriage. My mother was extraordinarily bereft, became more isolated and chronically sad. My reaction to Gary’s passing is a sense of relief for him no longer suffering. It releases me from caretaking and gives me some freedom. There’s some sadness but an unexpected gift is that ALL resentments, anger and judgements about our marital shortcomings have been lifted filling me with memories of love, health and security.
I am grateful.
I’m glad to hear you doing so well, Michele! Thank you for being honest, as usual.
Of course you are glad that Gary is no longer suffering. I suspect you’ve been grieving him for a long time, ever since he became so ill.
I wonder if the reason the password “Widow” didn’t feel like you is because you’ve always had your own identity. If you’ve never really defined yourself primarily in relationship to Gary, you may not relate to yourself primarily in relationship to Gary now. Do you think?
You are still Michele just as you have always been. Independent, strong, and in recent years, Gary’s primary caregiver and breadwinner.
I also wonder if it’s a comfort to know that you did everything you could to care well for Gary. You are a good reminder that grief takes many forms.
One last thought, the way you cared for Gary as he was dying, and also for his body after he passed, strikes me as loving and realistic. Do you think that has also helped give you closure and an acceptance of his death?
Your own observations of the difference between the circumstances around your father’s death and Gary’s death also make a lot of sense.
Regardless, I am glad to read that you are doing well. I imagine the grief will come in waves. It’s also interesting to know that you work in a psych hospital. I hope you don’t mind my analysis. Occupational hazard, even though I’m retired.
Sorry to hear you lost your husband and admire your courage to be a caretaker and bread winner. I hope you find rest.