A new identity

I had a hard day today. A hot, new product was introduced today by the company my husband worked for. All week, commentators and newspapers have been talking about the item. My husband loved, loved, loved writing software and being the first to have the new gadgets. And I was so proud of him for the work he did. Our family was always in-the-know on the products the company introduced. Everyone asked for advice (and discounts) on the newest stuff.

But who am I now? I'm not Mrs. Married-to-Somebody-Important. I'm Mrs. Widow: Looking for a New Identity.

Smile and cheer

I've been trying to analyze why the kids' swim meets are so hard for me emotionally. It comes down to three things. First, I have no close friends among the parents on this team. Ken's death is way off of their front pages. I yearn for someone to ask me how we are coping. Asking me how we are doing will not jog my memory that Ken died. Believe me, I haven't forgotten. Second, I see the groups of fathers standing talking, swapping stories and I remember Ken there last year and the year before. I see him lending a hand at the meets helping any way he could. Third, I don't have Ken to share my pride in our wonderful children. I can't turn to him and say, "Did you see that? Wasn't she great!?" or "Wow, he's really flying!" Nothing made us happier than watching our children.

I smile and cheer. Smile and cheer. Then cry.

Hard Day

I never feel more alone than when I am with acquaintances. Close friends can read me better and know when to ask how I am or what I am thinking. Acquaintances are afraid to mention Ken or ask how things are. This morning I went to the kids' swim meet. There are no parents on the team that I am particularly close to. I talk to them at swim team events. I've been to dinner with them, but that's about it. I sat in my chair looking around at all the families. No one has said How are things? Are you doing okay? How are the kids? Just some acknowledgment. Any acknowledgment. I know that Ken's death is now off their current events page. It will be on my current events page forever. Do they think that by not mentioning it I won't remember?

No mention at Claire's play tonight either. There was Ken's picture in the program with "In Memory" and no one acknowledged it.

But then Claire in the play was hard enough. She looked beautiful on stage. I wanted to share it with Ken. I wanted Ken to see his daughter. I wanted Claire to hear her father say she was wonderful.

Not alone

Claire and I spent several hours late Saturday night in the emergency room. She fell at play rehearsal and feared her wrist was broken. It was merely sprained, but the pain was just as intense. This was my first crisis without Ken. As I drove Claire to the hospital, I thought of people whom I could call to be with me at the hospital. Just knowing that there were so many people that I could count on was a tremendous comfort. I thought I was handling things well until I checked Claire in and sat down to wait for her name to be called. She was in pain and there was nothing I could do about it. I called a nearby friend and she was at the hospital in minutes to wait out the x-rays and diagnosis.

The crisis was over and we were sent home with a sling. My friend hugged me and I thanked her for her kindness. "Anytime," she said. And I know that's true.

I survived the crisis without Ken, but I wasn't alone. And I know I don't ever have to be alone.