**I started this post on Saturday night, late, late night so maybe technically Sunday morning. I’ve debated if I should post it but I’m going to. In less than two hours I take my children to the funeral home where we will see my husband for the first time since 12-13-14. It may be rambling and I know it’s no Pulitzer writing, but I’m trying to get my feelings out.**
Unfortunately that doesn’t mean my blog……if only it were that simple. We all go through life with titles – son, daughter, mom, dad, brother, sister, husband, wife. Maybe our other titles are homemaker, lawyer, doctor, path coordinator……. little do we ever think our title will someday turn to that of, what I’m now calling the “W” word. You may be scrambling in your mind to figure out what the “W” word is – it’s not a bad word per se – unless you’re me.
A 36-year old mom of three children ages 12 (soon to be 13), 10 and 8.
I’m a widow. A widow. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Bailey.” then the questions come; where is your husband, can I meet your husband, is he at work?
A pause. “No, I’m sorry, my husband passed on”. Hear those crickets? Yep, I understand I wouldn’t know what to say either if one of my friend’s lost their husband. Crickets. Quick escape? Quietness? What does one say to a suddenly single mom of 3? Words won’t make it better.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m so VERY, VERY appreciative and grateful for the kind words, the prayers, the offers of help to watch my children, of food, money, gas cards and oh, so much more. What I really want – and what no one can give to me is my husband. We had so much planned – so much to do – and I’m alone. I’ve seen God working through our tragedy but I still would much rather prefer to have my husband back – find him sitting in the chair and it’s all a bad joke.
But it’s not. I know he’s not in pain anymore – I also have the assurance that he knew Christ as his personal Savior and we will meet again. But that doesn’t help me now. Doesn’t help me alone in bed. Doesn’t help me pay the bills. Doesn’t help me raise our children.
No matter how much my husband annoyed me – with his weird and often times gross jokes, or his annoying habit of enjoying heavy metal music (thankfully we both agreed on Mozart) or Barry Manilow – he loved me. He didn’t care that I wasn’t as skinny as I was when we married. I’d be loading the dishwasher and he pat my behind. I’d act annoyed. Oh to have one more pat. He made me feel beautiful even when I felt ugly – he built me up when I’d tear myself down.
It’s almost Christmas. Christmas without a dad – fatherless. Christmas without a husband – widow. Widow.
It’s almost our anniversary. Our 14th. We beat the odds for 2nd marriages – statistics show we should have been divorced long ago, and we probably would have if it weren’t for God. An anniversary without a husband. Widow. I initially was going to cancel the reservations we had – but I told the children I want to celebrate. Will it be hard? Yes, gut wrenchingly (not a word, oh well) hard. I’ll probably be in the restroom more than eating my food but I will go, the children will go and we will remember their dad, my husband – a son, brother, son-in-law, brother-in-law.
A new title.
I guess I’ll get used to it. I might even come to wear it with happiness because I know I was loved. Even when I was angry, when I yelled at him and was far, far from the esteemed Proverbs 31 woman, I was loved. Do I want to be a widow? No. I guess though if I had to be a widow of someone I’d definitely want it to be my husband, Donnis A.D. Bailey who passed peacefully on to his eternal reward on 12-13-14. We weren’t rich. We didn’t have iPads or smart phones. He couldn’t buy me roses. We had each other.
I’m still waiting to hear his car. Hear the phone ring to have him ask me if I need anything at the store. I’m still waiting for him to come through the door. Someone told me I’m going to have 365 days of firsts – the first two have come and gone – I don’t know, except with the Lord, the support of my children, my friends and family how I’m going to get through 363 more days. Soon his office will remove his voice greeting at work so I won’t be able to call to hear his voice. I want my 365 days of 14 – our 14th year of doing things together.
If you see me on the street – don’t ignore me – even if you have nothing to say – don’t ignore me. I like crickets, I find their songs quite pleasant in the summer (although not so much the ones that find their way into my house). Ask me about my husband. I’ll share my memories. I may cry, so offer me a tissue or two or three. Don’t ignore my children – ask them about their daddy. Give them a few tissues too.
I know everyone’s life will go on, go back to normal in a few days. Ours has changed, forever. I respect that and I understand it. Just please don’t forget us. Don’t act like we can’t talk about Don. Don’t forget.
As I join the ranks of widowhood – I know heartache that I could have only imagined – how many times have I seen a widow but I don’t ask about her husband? We don’t know what to say – but as I’m learning we need to remember – we need to talk and yes it may be incoherent at times but just listen. Hand us a tissue and listen.
(c) 2014, Sarah Bailey/Growing for Christ, All Rights Reserved, Unauthorized Duplication is a Violation of Applicable Laws