Give Voice and Pass it on....

May 09, 2019

I’ve written about the loss of my husband, Harry, in this blogpost. The rippling effect it has caused over the years.

I also kept a journal to express myself. I knew family and friends were tired of hearing about what I was going through. (No, they never said, but I knew after awhile they wanted me to move on)

This is the first time I’ve been published, though. I admit it’s pretty exciting for me. I flew to New York City to attend the book publishing party for Widow’s Words, this last weekend.

My essay, “Becoming Maggie” explains some of the coping-ripples I went through after Harry’s death.

Elizabeth Posted this on Instagram

My daughter Elizabeth, (who lives in Brooklyn), went with me to the publishing party. She’s the one who encouraged me to submit my writing. She’s always believed in my ability to give voice to what happens in my life.

When the two of us walked up to the apartment building (for the party), we had spent the day together in and out of several places in the rain.

Rained all day!
(We sought comfort food at Katz's)

When we got to the apartment building, in Manhattan, I had to switch off my New Balance tennis shoes (in the lobby), before we took the elevator to the eleventh floor. I wanted to have on something a bit more dressy for the party.

Both Elizabeth and I were looking forward to meeting Nan, editor of Widow’s Words and other authors in the book. We didn’t expect 26 other contributors to the book (widows) to be there along with publisher and artist.

I felt like I had just left King's Cross Station Platform 9¾ at Hogsmeade Station and arrived at Hogsworts. I stepped through the door and this place was full of widows. I entered a space I didn’t know existed and had never been.

We shared profound links even though we were strangers. Being a widow is not exactly a topic I bring up in normal day to day conversations. If it does happen to come up, it’s usually deferred to another subject. Normally by the other person, not me.

I identified with the non-verbal language immediately. It’s not a language often used outside widowhood. The strongest cue I picked up on is “No small talk”. Not one person I talked to hesitated to get to the meat of the subject…grief! We were all thrown together to connect and celebrate our published book. The buzz in the rooms seemed to lift us in its comfort.

I sat down next to a woman sitting on a large, tan couch, to introduce myself. She said, “I’m the one with the crazy husband!” I was happy she just put it out there. Her husband had a form of dementia the last six years of his life. I remember when I read her story I thought, “How did she ever keep going?”

Each woman’s experience is unique, (including myself), which made this book important to publish. No one is immune to death. No one is ever free from inevitable clutches of grief. And there is no map to follow.

To say our experiences are behind us is an exaggeration. The death is in the past, but we carry the grieving process with us even now. It’s like we put widowhood in the safe deposit box in a fixed place in our minds and heart. We have a key to open it up and examine the past. Writing about being a widow is one of those times we lifted the lid.

I felt the strength these women possessed to move forward and the strength they gained from sharing their stories and memories. There was a lot of unleashed power there.

Talking to other widows and reading their stories in Widow’s Words helped me realize it’s not who the person was, how we lost them or where we were in our life when the event happened.

It’s a cyclone. It hits. We seek refuge and work to rebuild our lives when we were able to come out again. All of us advanced from the wreckage we found ourselves in and picked up the pieces. We talked of depression, isolation, fear, anger and determination.

Seeing the faces and hearts of these women helped me look deeper into not only into the human condition of loss but how death crosses every line. Age, economics, race, gender, geography, religion and time. The voices in this book are important. The names and places change but the pain of loss doesn’t. It cuts deep.

Sometimes we’re encompassed by the pain and don’t notice the others at the table in this loss. The children, the parents, the relatives and friends. But, I also heard stories of surprises some of these widows had when they found new people and possibilities in their lives or reestablished the old bonds they lost when grieving.

This weekend is Mother’s Day. If you have a relative who could benefit from reading the stories in this book, I encourage you to think about sharing the gift Widow’s Words to them. My mother will be receiving a copy from me. She lost my father six months before I lost my husband. I remember her saying, “It will get easier, it takes time.” She promised me I would eventually have the desire and ability to eat and sleep again.