A little bit stronger

When your husband dies everything changes. Not just how you’re regarded by others, but also how you perceive yourself.

I’m single now. I’m still a mom, but no longer a wife. I’m the third wheel around other couples. I’m “the widow” around acquaintances. I’m still an introvert. I’m still a rule follower. I try to be a good Christian, but I have a mouth that would make a sailor blush. I always thought I was independent. But after I lost my husband, I realized just how much I relied on him. So, I’ve taught myself how to fix the toilet, change the air conditioner filters, and I’m prepared to go to war with the skunk that keeps spraying my dogs.

My Joe used to say I was the strongest person he knew. I wasn’t strong because I was superhuman. I was strong because I had no other choice. Winston Churchill said it best “if you’re going through hell, keep going”. And I have definitely been through hell.

I can honestly say that Joe’s death broke me.

But I am finally putting the pieces of my life back together. I’ve grown in my ability to be by myself and not let the loneliness take control. It still does but not as often. I’ve mastered the art of eating alone. I’ve gotten the hang of sleeping in my king-sized bed without the calming serenade of Joe’s soft snoring. I’ve become an expert at driving myself wherever I need to go. I am thankful for the ability to keep moving forward in my grief.

I have a firm grasp on the reality of just how short this life truly is.

The woman I see in the mirror today looks so different. She is probably grayer, if it weren’t for Miss Clairol. She no longer looks lost, no longer looks afraid. But around the corners of her eyes, where rivers of tears have fallen, I see a softened, more tender-hearted soul. I see a woman who, given the chance, would love the right man with everything she has. Hopefully someone someday might see her that way too.

Today I’m just grateful I don’t see that broken girl anymore.