Widow's Voice

Part of my story.

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In the year right after Boris died, I was a bit socially withdrawn–I mostly spent time one-on-one with people, rather than in groups. And all of the people I spent time with knew me very well and also knew Boris and about his loss. I didn’t really have to tell my story to anyone. I didn’t have to decide whether or not to mention it. And, sometimes, I did, in the most awkward ways. Like with the hygienist at the dentist when I burst into tears when she asked me about flossing. And the hairstylist who I went to when washing and blow-drying my hair felt like the biggest chore in the world. But, not to people who I might have a friendship with or work with for any length of time. 

I started a Ph.D. program in fall 2019 and that was my first venture into new social situations and forming relationships with people who didn’t know Boris and didn’t know about his death. I remember a few sort-of awkward situations. One was a post-doc who asked me about my “I love you” tattoo (it is Boris’s handwriting from a card). He said something jokingly like, “are you telling yourself that you love yourself with that tattoo?”. I smiled and told him what the tattoo was and his tone changed and then told me about his daughter’s death and how he has a tattoo for her. There were other people around and I remember feeling a little awkward but quickly relieved when he had a grief experience to share. There were a handful of other instances where I shared about my loss, and most of them turned out okay.

Last night I talked to my parents’ new neighbors for almost an hour. They asked a lot of questions about my dad’s health and we talked a little about my life, too. There were a few moments in the conversation where I felt like blurting out, “well, I had a boyfriend for 10 years and he died” or something to indicate how my life had drastically changed suddenly 3 years ago, which is sort of how I ended up where I am now. But, it never seemed to make sense. I didn’t want it to seem random or for them to feel uncomfortable. I wondered, if I were married to Boris would I feel differently? Would I feel more open to telling them that I am a widow? If I had that marriage to “legitimize” it or maybe if we had children together…maybe then I wouldn’t hesitate to talk about that part of my story. 

If I live long enough, I know I have many, many years of navigating this. Of meeting new people and forming new friendships or other relationships and deciding how to tell them about my story. I know in my heart that my relationship with Boris was just as significant as many marriages are, and I know a piece of paper doesn’t change anything about a commitment or a love, but because our culture seems to still center around marriage, I feel some nervousness about this piece of my life. 

Ya know, this whole problem could be solved if Boris had just *not died*. Sigh. So many of our problems, secondary losses, and heartaches could vanish if our person were still here. But, here we are.

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.