Yesterday was National Widows Day. To help support other widows, I went on Facebook to write a quick message and acknowledgement. When I logged in, the first post I saw was from a friend I’ve known for almost 20 years. Her post said she was celebrating her 15-year anniversary and had two photos from her wedding in Puerto Vallarta. We, of course, attended her wedding. In fact, I discuss her wedding in my book, Feeling Left Behind. My husband stood just outside one photo’s view, but I was in the photo. Looking at the photos, I remembered the trip and felt dumbfounded that we’ll never attend a wedding again or even celebrate our anniversary.
When I saw her post, sadness and deep depression overcame me. I’m happy for her and was proud of the creativity she and her husband displayed in celebrating while in Corvid-19 quarantine. But, after reading her post, I remembered a conversation when we discussed the men we hoped we’d meet some day. We had just attended a Tony Robbins seminar in Aspen and were driving back to Denver in her car. As we approached the Eisenhower Tunnel, which is the marvel that allows easier passage to Colorado’s ski resorts, we both declared that the men would have to be masculine. We desired different qualities, but we both wanted masculine men.
Six months later, I met Reg. I think about six months after that, she met her husband. As I read her post, I kept thinking about that conversation and wondering why she got to keep her husband, while I didn’t get to keep mine. Please understand I’m not in any way wishing death on her husband. I just don’t understand why death came and took mine. Needless to say, I ended up in tears and felt depressed for the rest of the day. The timing didn’t escape me either—my going on Facebook to acknowledge National Widows Day and feeling bombarded by my friend’s celebratory news and the unfairness of the world.
I know those of you reading this blog understand. Like me, you wish you did not know when—or even that—National Widows Day occurs. I send you many hugs and am sorry you are part of the widows’ club.