A friend recently connected me with her friend who had unexpectedly lost her partner a few months ago. In talking with her, I recognized that “under the surface shock while trying to pretend to hold a normal conversation” that I (and probably most of us) felt after Lynn passed – especially for those first 6-12 months. I remember feeling how “thin” my skin felt, as if every time I moved or was touched, it felt like my nerve endings were lit on fire. That time when being asked basic questions felt confusing to answer – greatly because of the widow fog, and also because I felt like all my answers needed to be preceded with a disclaimer that I was recently widowed (and therefore not doing well!).
I always love talking with newer widows and encouraging them to talk about how they are “really” doing (lol), to be honest and that they are safe to talk about what “crazy” thoughts they have that cannot be shared with non-widows, for fear that we will be judged and further misunderstood. I often hear they are saying something for the first time, because they were having thoughts and feelings that they could not sort out or understand. I remember how confusing, frustrating, and exhausting that time was, and at the time, I did not have close widow friends yet to ask the “weird” and unexpected questions that would pop in my head constantly.
While we were chatting, she asked me, “When do you start saying ‘I’ instead of ‘we’?” And I matter of factly told her, “I think 2, maybe 3 years.” I was aware that telling a newer widow that it took me years might frighten them or deflate their hope. I believe she thought my answer would be a few months or so. But the honesty widows told me about their journey helped me immensely. Knowing the true reality of their experiences helped me a great deal when I faced similar milestones later. Also, because I was talking with a widow, I noticed I did not hesitate in answering, nor did I consider if they would judge my answer, and subsequently, would I have to explain myself (exhausting!).
As I reflected on my answer, I was a lttle surprised myself when I realized that it had been about that long before I regularly stopped saying “we.” I remember those first two years of organically and automatically saying “we,” as in “We love that restaurant!” “We usually go hiking on the weekends.” “We usually do this for insert holiday.” “Our dogs are Bailey and Bode.” (It was actually many years that I referred to the dogs as ours. Continuing to call pets “our pets” was another conversation my new friend and I had.) “Our house…” On her first birthday after her passing, a co-worker asked what I was doing that weekend, and I said,” Oh, it’s my partner’s birthday.” And she asked, “Oh, what are you two doing?” And I had to remind her that Lynn had passed. For me it was totally normal to mention it was Lynn’s birthday, and that I was going to be doing something for her birthday. (I had a bunch of friends over and we had a cake and sang Happy Birthday 🙂 )
In the million “hard” things about widowhood, I rank the slow transition of primarily saying “I” instead of “we” as among the hardest of the hards. When I made the conscious decision to start using the word “I,” I actually had to practice saying it. It was incredibly hard to not automatically say “we,” when I still MEANT “we.” (I mean, I’m sure she still loves that restaurant!) One of the worst things about practicing “I” was immediately experiencing my nerve endings light on fire and my stomach curling in knots, and – NO ONE KNOWS.
Sigh, this widow thing gets messy sometimes. The thoughts and feelings are on an endless roller coaster, though my ride has more plateaus than it used to. I am so glad to have had many folks in the seat next to me holding my hand, and I am also grateful to sit down in the seat next to someone who just got on the ride.
