Dear judgmental society, I’m not returning my widow membership card anytime soon.
Almost six years ago, I found myself thrust into one of life’s most unfortunate clubs. On October 9, 2009, I transitioned from being part of a couple, Mrs. Emily Carter, to being a widow. No thanks, I didn’t sign up for this exclusive membership. At 36, with a toddler and a baby at home, my life was just beginning, and the last thing I wanted was to join your club. I would trade that card in a heartbeat for my loving husband back, thank you very much!
Coming to terms with my status as a widow took time. I realized no amount of pleading or denial could change the fact that I was part of this painful group.
As a new widow, I faced unimaginable challenges. I made decisions about organ donations, explaining the complex details to a stranger on the phone while simultaneously grieving the loss of my best friend. I sat down with my little girl, carefully crafting a script to explain her father’s tragic plane crash, knowing I needed to shield her from as much pain as possible.
That night, after putting my kids to bed, I felt like a ghost hovering above our lives, detached from the harsh reality of our situation. The shock was so intense that I didn’t even experience real pain at that moment. I wrote and delivered his eulogy, visited the crash site, and scattered his ashes in his favorite places.
I comforted his mother as she mourned her son and was warned against viewing his body, as it would be traumatizing. The urge to say a proper goodbye to the love of my life was overwhelming, but I had to suppress it. I poured over police reports, the NTSB findings, and an unopened autopsy report, terrified of what it might reveal about my heartache. I lay in bed for months, feeling an emptiness that no one else could fill, all while trying to be both mom and dad to our kids.
Through judgment and isolation, I faced the reality of widowhood. I could fill pages with my experiences—perhaps even a whole book! Each moment etched deep into my emotional fabric.
Undoubtedly, I am a widow. Yet what I discovered is that other members of this unfortunate club are some of the most incredible people you’ll ever meet. They’ve weathered storms of pain and emerged with a beauty that’s hard to describe.
Grief is a harsh teacher, imparting lessons in perspective, patience, and love—yet it comes at a steep cost. I often say I wouldn’t wish my anguish on anyone, but I would wish my newfound outlook on life.
Over time, I learned to accept my membership in this unwanted club. Widowhood hasn’t defined me, but it has significantly influenced who I’ve become. I’ve built priceless friendships with those who view the world through similar lenses, and I’ve adjusted my goals and philosophies accordingly.
I’ve cried, laughed, learned, and transformed. And yes, I’ve remarried.
Wait, what? You’ve moved on? Hand over that widow card!
Apparently, once you find love again, all your past experiences become irrelevant. People assume that loving one person means you’ve forgotten another. But that’s not how love works!
So, let’s set the record straight. I’m married to a wonderful man named Jacob, but I’m still Mitchel’s widow. Both identities coexist; one doesn’t cancel out the other.
People often ask if I ever stop missing him, especially now that I’m remarried. The answer? No, I never stop missing him. Love is irreplaceable, and every love is unique.
Thus, I refuse to surrender my widow card. I won’t bow to societal pressures to conform to one narrative of love and loss. I embrace the complexities of my life.
I am a wife. I am a widow. I am a beautifully messy person who has loved, lost, grieved, and ultimately flourished. I’ve paid the ultimate price to discover who I truly am.
This article was originally published on September 15, 2015.
For more insights on navigating grief and relationships, check out this post from our other blog, Home Insemination Kit. If you’re looking for authoritative information on home insemination, Make a Mom offers fantastic resources. Plus, for questions on fertility insurance, visit this excellent resource from the UCSF.
In summary, my experiences have shaped me into a person capable of loving deeply while also carrying the memory of those I’ve lost. Grief may be messy, but so is love, and both are integral parts of my journey.