Wi(n)dow

I was filling out a form, probably a health or an insurance document, when I came to a question that asked me to check: single, married, widowed. My husband had died six months before. But I had not considered that word, widow. I had not called myself that nor had anyone referred to me (in my presence) as that.

 Widow.

 The root word for the person who outlasts the marriage is widow. Female. In English, the root word is almost always male. In the not-so-distant past, you had to tack on to the presumed-male word to “make it” female: actor, actress; waiter, waitress. Or way back when: author/authoress. But with this word, widow, you have to add something to make it male: widower.

 Women outlive men. And so we own the word.

 Gee, thanks.

 I have now been a widow for more than three years, so I’m kind of an expert. And here’s what I think:

 Widowhood is a window.

 It is a window through which to examine (and learn from) the relationship you had. It provides, if you let it, a view of who you are now, the parts of you that got submerged or blended into the marriage, the parts of you that were enhanced and burnished. The parts of you that welcome and joyfully embrace solitude. The parts of you that ache.The parts of you that are learning what you want and need next.

This window, this widow’s view, surprises you sometimes. The view is often of little moments, blips, really.

 Yesterday I had a mini-crisis. No, no, not that kind. Just a much anticipated and planned trip that fell apart with two hours to spare before I was to board a plane. Dealing with the fall-out, trying to come up with a Plan B on the fly, I was propelled into a cortisol-fueled, over-amped version of myself. The kind of self only my husband, a few times, got to see. As I was pacing and juggling and texting and working the phone and the laptop and hyper-ventilating, I knew in that moment what I needed and what I didn’t have. In that moment, through the window of my widowhood, I saw him: He put his arm around me. Just that simple gesture. It would have worked. It always did.