Like many of us who were forced upon this path of widowhood, I used to hate the word widow. Hated it with a vengeance. It made me shiver and it gave me chills. It made me feel sick to my stomach in ten billion different ways. When this tsunami of sudden death was thrust upon me in July of 2011, the last thing I wanted to be called was a widow. This word meant that he was gone forever. Like, forever forever. This word meant I had to figure out where to put my wedding ring, and what to do with all his “stuff”, and where the hell to live all by myself, or did I now have to get a roommate at age 39? (I did. Twice. And then I had to move back in with my parents.) It meant I no longer fit in with my married friends or my single friends or my divorced friends, because although that is also a loss, the differences between the two are like melons and jackhammers. Worst of all, being widowed meant I had to face the very real fact that I was no longer married to Don Shepherd, just 4 years and 9 months after marrying him.

Over the years, I would go on a looooong tsunami (still hate the word journey) of finding my way; figuring out what the hell to do next; letting go of or severely altering some lifelong dreams (including leaving NYC and “that life”), and figuring out my new relationship with myself, my family, my friends, and most importantly – my relationship with Don Shepherd. Figuring this out took years – years and hours and months and tears and horrible nightmares and days spent staring into space and grief-counseling sessions that seemed to have more questions than answers, and so much more. Eventually, I came to understand a few very important things:

1. The people we love who die can stay with us forever, just in a very different way. I did not have to “let him go” or “move on” or “put this behind me” or any of that other crap that people were telling me I had to do. Nope. One of the best days of my post-loss life was when my grief-counselor looked me in the eye and said: “the goal here is not to let him go. You don’t ever have to let them go. Anyone who is telling you that has no idea what they are talking about. The goal is to slowly shift your relationship with him into something that makes more sense in your life today.” Wow!
2. Ultimately, it is our decision entirely HOW we want to carry this loss, and how we want to carry them forward with us. After the mind-numbing pain turns more into sort of a background pain and joy becomes a thing again, it is up to us how we live this version of life, and what we do with it, and where our person that died fits into it. For me, loving Don and being loved by Don was what allowed me to be open to the idea of more love in my life. For me, the idea that it was so unfair that Don Shepherd no longer would havve the honor of living life past age 46, is what provided the fuel for me to live MY life at full volume, in color, and for the both of us. Its the least I can do, after everything he gave to me.
3. The word “widow” can mean so many different things. And also, in the end, it’s just a word. The big light-bulb moment for me with the word widow was two things that made the word something I no longer loathed with the fire of a thousand suns. The first thing was that although I am no longer married to Don Shepherd, I AM now his widow. Forever. Like, forever forever. Knowing that I am no longer Don Shepherd’s wife was heart-wrenching, but eventually realizing that I AM always Don Shepherd’s widow – THAT was life-altering. Being Don’s widow meant that we are forever connected. He will always be part of me, and we will always have a relationship. It’s not the relationship that I thought it would be, but it’s also not nothing. These days, I see Don as my lifelong friend who is always pulling for me, who always has my back. I see him as sort of a spirit-guide. I believe he brought me to my husband Nick, and that not only does he approve, but he is extremely thrilled for me to have more joy and more love. Today, I consider myself to be Nick’s wife, and Don’s widow. Both of these titles make me proud, filled with joy, and of course; always that tinge of sadness that loss provides. The second light-bulb moment for me with the word widow was when I started to meet other widowed people. When widowed people started becoming my friends, and I started to see their strength and their resilience and their amazing ability to love and live fiercely even though they know they can lose it all in a split second – how could I ever hate that word? Widowed people are bad-asses. They are beautiful. Widowed people are the the family you gain , when the family and life you knew are now gone. W is for Family – and I will forever be grateful to have these incredible people in my life.