I can't stop myself from telling people my husband died. Now what's that all about? Ken died five and a half years ago, yet I haven't reached the point yet where I can keep it to myself. I'm like a little parrot: my husband died, my husband died, my husband died. It's like a verbal tic; it has to come out. It's the fact that must be known.
I will say that I have improved in this regard. I rarely tell total strangers anymore while standing in line at the post office and I don't open my window and shout it out into the neighborhood at random moments. Still, if I were to just meet you, and if we were to exchange words leading into a conversation, you might find out that I am currently doing a lot of work for a brand new experimental library, I have two children, I love to write, and, well, my husband died five years ago.
My eyes are blue, my hair is gray, I grew up in Canada, and my husband died when I was 44 leaving me the only parent of two young children.
The other day I was driving around doing some work with three women who I've met within the last three months or so. The conversation turned to the tornado warning we'd experienced the night before here in Chicago. Well, here was a perfect opportunity for me to mention that when my late husband had been at MD Anderson in Houston for his second stem cell transplant in 2005, we were there for both Hurricane Katrina and Hurricane Rita. Just can't stop myself from bringing it up.
So here's the thing: I'm quite happy now. My health is excellent. I have a very lovely boyfriend, I feel like I'm doing a great job raising my kids, I love where I live, I'm doing work I enjoy. My friends and neighbors are wonderful. I am no longer in misery or drowning in grief. I'm having a good time.
And...
my husband died.
It's as if I still can't really believe it happened.
When I talk about it, I keep some of our story alive.
He's dead, but what happened to us is so real and so present for me.
Don't you think for a moment when you see me happy that I have forgotten him.
He died. I remember that every day, again.
About Me
- Jill Schacter
- My wonderful husband died when I was 44 years old. Being widowed this young happens to less than 3% of married people. Writing through this loss one word at time helps me understand what I've lost and helps me continue to grow. It is how I have gradually recovered from such a severe loss. Research shows that you can benefit from taking just 15 minutes a day to write out your deepest feelings as a way of healing. On the right side of this blog, you'll see a tag for Exercises to Try. If you need some help knowing how to use writing to help heal yourself, I suggest you start there.
12 comments:
I think it may just be what one does. My husband died almost three years ago of cancer. he was 55. I was 46. It is now part of my my life story and part of who I am. I talk less of the last year with him now and the shock and trauma of his illness and his death. I think, more and more, I've got my head around that part now; but he was a big part of my life's journey and I cannot help but refer to him, and share recollections of him. I don't know if that's possible.
I am so appreciative of your blog. It's a great help to read something from another young widow. thank you.
Thank you for writing! Your response helps me feel less alone as well.
I find you to be brave and true and honest and beautiful in your writing and in your vivid descriptions of what it feels like to lose your husband. You might think we tire of hearing it, but for anyone (like myself) who fears exactly what you've survived, you're demonstrating how to move ahead without ever forgetting. I truly, truly love that you do not hesitate to share your story -- and Ken's story, and Natalie's story, and Alec's story -- with the world. You are stronger than when I first met you. You're more radiant than when I first met you. And those things don't equate to Ken meaning LESS. Does that make sense? I'll never tire hearing of Ken, nor do I think anyone else will. And if they do, you can just tell them to shut the front door on their way out.
Thank you again for a wonderful post. I was recently registering my son to start Kindergarten in the fall and as the nurse was looking through his paperwork she looked up and said to me, "you know, my first husband died when my child was 3 years old as well." She then went on to say, "That was 30 years ago and I am very happy, but I still think of him everyday." I found this amazingly comforting, as while I hope to some day not feel the daily pain of grief, I don't ever want to get to a point where I don't think of my husband on a regular basis. I am glad to hear that you feel the same way.
My husband of a year died on Sunday. I am just 30 years old. Just 3% of married population you say and that only makes me more confused - how can I be in that 3%. My husband is dead. It is like a god-forsaken mantra that I keep repeating. My husband is dead. And then I break-down.
I love this post, as it conveys feeling mixed with reality. I lost my husband less than two months ago and I am still very young with one young child. Although I am going through all the "stages" as people say of the grief, and it is still very early, I appreciate reading what you have written. I have always been a happy person and I don't want to feel this sad. Your story is uplifting and just what I needed to come across. Thank you.
Thanks for writing. If you identify yourself as a happy person, I'm sure you'll feel happy again sometime. The sadness of losing your husband will become a part of you, but just a part and not more of the whole like it is now. Thank you so much for writing.
My husband was killed 3 years ago and this year is as hard as the first year. It is so weird that I just can't let go. I feel like it is all my fault that he died and I was hours away from him when it happened. I feel like I let my kids down on a daily basis since they do not have a dad in their lives. I wish I could figure this out, but I just can't.
Thank you for your post. I feel maybe there is hope for me and my babies. It is unreal now. How do I even face tomorrow. Sorry I am a stranger and don't even now how I stumbled upon your post.
Thank you for your post. I feel maybe there is hope for me and my babies. It is unreal now. How do I even face tomorrow. Sorry I am a stranger and don't even now how I stumbled upon your post.
My husband died of neck cancer. forty-one days from the time "I don't feel well" to the morning he died. I stopped telling the people he died because most people don't give a shit. I work in health care, with mostly young women, and think to myself just wait when your husband dies just remember how rotten you were to me. I thank God I have wonderful friends to help me continue my life without him. I have anxiety attacks every time I opening the door to our home, because he is not waiting for me. I appreciate your blog and knowing I will get stronger
Thank you for writing. I wish you strength on this new path without your husband.
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