I hated the word.
I hate the word hate, too. But in this instance...only hate would do.
Widow is such a lonely word.
It is old. It is covered in black, and it most definitely has wrinkles.
That isn't me.
I've used the word a handful of times, and in each instance it was meant to be a joke.
"I bet you say that to all the widows."
"I was a grieving widow, and you expected me to retain that bit of information?"
"You wouldn't say that to a widow, would you?"
Every time I said it, a little something inside me died. The word made me anxious, and angry. It didn't define me at all.
But the fact remains, today I changed my relationship status on Facebook to "widowed."
I AM a widow.
Damn it. I AM A WIDOW.
What the hell?!
As I took to my treadmill today I tossed the word around in my head a bit. The treadmill is the new shower for me. I can think things out, and cry them out with exceptional satisfaction. It feels good to run and cry. It feels good to hash out in my brain things that I am struggling with.
I said the word out loud. "Widow."
"I am a widow."
And as I said it out loud, it occurred to me that even though I am a widow...I am much much more than that. For instance:
I am a mother. I am a chocolate chip cookie lover. I am a laugher at inappropriate jokes. I am a night person, and all of a sudden I am a morning person, too. I am the new cook of the house. I am a decorator. I am a writer. I am a people person. I am a family person. I am a movie lover. I am a sky-aholic. I am a sister, daughter, aunt, niece, cousin, sister in law, daughter in law, friend. I am a lover and a fighter. I am a Christ follower. I am a hoper. I am a joy finder. I am a friend. I am a music lover. I am a realist and I am a dreamer. I am responsible. I am irresponsible. I am passionate. I am someone who appreciates small gestures. I am a singer to the car radio. I am neat, and I am a mess. I am a speaker. I am a motivator. I am a pancreas. I am a fast driver. I am a PMSer. I am a fierce advocate. I am a hugger. I am a crier. I am a smiler. I am an adapter. I am a blessing counter. I am a deep thinker. I am someone who loves quiet and chaos. I am a prayer.
And yeah...I am a widow, too. I don't want to be a widow. But I didn't get a say in that.
I am anyway.
I am anyway.
I am a million different things. So adding widow to the mix doesn't change too much. Sure...it has changed my perspective somewhat. Life is too short not to tell someone you love them. Life is too short not to hug and laugh and try your best. We only get one try at this life thing...it is a waste to live it without thankfulness in our hearts. (My widowiness taught me that.)
So why fight it? I am going to take this widow thing and bring it up a notch.
Whether I want it there or not, it is piece of who I am. And whether I admit it or not, it has made me a more grateful...dare I say better? person. (Which really ticks me off. Why do trials have to make us better? Isn't there an easier way?)
I won't be afraid of that word anymore.
I'm not going to put it on a t-shirt or anything. But today I take ownership of it.
Because I'm ok with the finished product. All those pieces fit neatly together to make me. And although I am not perfect...I am starting to appreciate who I am.
I am Meri Schuhmacher.
I am not shady and wrinkled. I don't wear hats with netting over the eyes. I don't wear brown pantyhose. I don't eat fruitcake. I don't wear dentures. I'm still in my 30's for crying out loud! (For another month or so anyway...)
I do like black though. It's slimming.
Sure I am a widow...but that only scratches the surface of me.
Is that corny?
Because it's ok if it is...
It's just another part of what makes me who I am.