WRITING is a solitary occupation and one of its hazards is loneliness. But the advantage to loneliness is privacy, autonomy, and freedom.
WIDOWHOOD is also a solitary occupation, but most of us don’t welcome the autonomy and freedom that comes with it. We’re in a club that no one joins willingly, but instead are initiated into after a husband or wife dies—after our best friend and lover passes. We turn to each other for understanding, companionship, and hope.
My writings don’t omit much of the personal, so I ask readers to accept the uncensored thoughts and conclusions of one widow as she begins her journey of change.
Writing about loss digs deep into uncharted territory. It takes risks, and in exchange brings about a greater range and depth to our artistic expression. A deep immersion into our reading and writing has a quiet, calming, and healthful effect—our heart rate slows, our immune system strengthens, and we feel a general sense of being. By confronting our most difficult memories and translating them into a cohesive form of narrative—we begin to accept and heal.
I invite all widows, widowers, and their loved ones to follow my journey and write alongside with me. Please take the time to start at the beginning and read about one widow’s journey through widowhood. I hope you find solace and inspiration.
REMEMBER, one must tell the story slowly and carefully; how their loved one fell ill, the depths of their suffering, what was said before they died, and how they died. One must describe the journey to the hospital, gathering of their personal belongings, every detail of the funeral, and the aftermath. The specifics must be told. And then—that gasp—that sigh—from the listener.
Perhaps what grief requires, as much as anything, is that the process not be interrupted—that it find a time and a place in which to unfold and without (too much) interruption.
Hi Terry,
This story is about me and so many others….you have captured this chapter our lives to the letter T. After reading it, I don’t feel so alone in my thoughts and fears, so many of us are going through this painful but growing experience. Thank you for putting our journey into words, it helps to see it in black and white when there is so much gray.
Sylvia
Terry, I’ve started reading your blog and am very touched. It brings it all home which is good and bad at the same time. It’s good because I have to get through this thing called grief also and because your words expand my grief somehow into your world. Bad because I don’t want to be a widow. Even though we had been fighting cancer for over a year. I always expected it to be a fight we would win. I was unable to think otherwise. Even when I knew at the end that I would loose my beloved, I didn’t ever think it would be today, but always another day.
I read your Widow’s Corner in the lovinlife paper. I am so sorry to read about your loss. I have had other losses than a husband, but they are all traumatic. You are so right that writing down feelings are so important it seems to validate them. Whenever I can’t seem to get through or communicate I write and it helps. Christa
Terry – I have been slowly digesting your writings over the past months. I admire your strength — your courage as you have shared your grief journey. You have a gift and I thank you so much for sharing your heartfelt thoughts in such a meaningful, tender way.
In 1997, I lost my 2nd husband and soulmate to cancer. I truly believe that he sent someone to watch over me and I was blessed to remarry and have yet another soulmate. However, he passed away in April of 09. It was sudden and oh, so very unexpected – the picture of health gone in a nanosecond. It still seems so new sometimes. To become widowed twice is a special kind of horror.
I wish I had your gifts of writing, but have never been the journaling type. If I had your talent, I would have pages of thoughts to share. Your writings have given me strength when I thought I had none and I truly thank you.