It has been 9 weeks since Dave died and so I am a veritable newborn into this tribe of shadow people. And as with all those who are newly widowed, I am searching for ways to honor and remember my loved one. I feel this desperate need to remember every detail that I can about him and our life together. I have written volumes about him (and myself, actually) that will never see the light of day because it is the well of my soul being poured out and it is for me alone. I eventually hope that I will be well and healed enough to write about whatever process gets me to that point. I think of that place as a point of light off in the distance that I am ever pushing toward.
I have read the writings of many others who have found themselves in the same situation as me and I take courage in the fact the most of them have come back from the edge stronger and wiser than they were before. These widows (I say widows because there are not that many widowers who write about their grief...guess it is that "men don't talk about their feelings" thing) invariably write about their dark days, their tears, their hardships, their dealings with the societal ramifications of their newly bestowed status as a "widow". But they also write about their lost loves, their kids, their friends, dating. In other words, how they are getting on in the "world without ______". Mostly these women write about finding joy again and moving on in the world. And most of theses women are young, under-50's.
Conversely, when I read the writings of widows who are closer to my own age and especially those a decade or more older, a completely different picture emerges. Granted, there are a few who write like the younger wids but overall, their take on their situation is viewed from a much darker place. They are ravaged, bitter, lonely, lost and incredibly sad. But the most prevalent thing I have noticed is the complete hopelessness that they seem to feel. Is this disparity in feelings due to the fact that they are considered "past their prime" in this beauty obsessed culture of ours? Or is it because they were born into another generation, one where women were defined by their married status? Maybe it is because these women have children that are grown and who have families of their own that they focus their attention on. Or possibly it is because older women (and men) fear that widowhood is contagious and they don't want to become "infected". I really have no answer for any of those questions and I am not sure that I want to know.
Another thing that has been bothering me is that I, myself, have been bestowed with a title that I resent and reject. That word "widow". It is such an ugly, burdensome word. I never called myself Mrs. Ballard and have always been startled when someone called me by that title. Mrs. Ballard was Dave's mother. I was never defined by my marital status, was rarely identified as "Dave's wife", so why should I be saddled with the burden of being "Dave's widow". We were so much more than simply a husband and a wife.
Dave was always the one who said that I was an amazing woman in my own right and didn't need to be attached to him and his name, unless I just wanted to be. Dave explained to me once how Native Americans chose their names and that appealed to me greatly. He also said that the name he had was not the one he was born with and that for the first few months of his life (he was adopted at about 3 months of age) he had no name at all and that he had been given a new name by the people who adopted him and was just a twist of fate. So names were pretty much meaningless to him. We decided that we liked the idea of choosing names for each other and so I became Scout, a name which I was and am very proud to have earned. My name for him was known only to the two of us and was born out of my love for him and so I will not reveal it to anyone. It is a secret that I will keep for myself.
(Originally written in May, 2010)
