38. The Modern Widow

"Some people come into our lives and quickly go.  Some stay for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same." 

~Flavia Weedn, Forever

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 800,000 people are widowed each year.  Since there are currently over 313 million people living in the United States, this means that 0.25% of the total population will join the ranks of the widowed before the end of 2012.  For this small portion of the population, there is a constant struggle to find support communities due to the isolation associated with acute grieving.  This explains the recent surge of organizations like Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, the American Widow Project, and the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS), all of which seek to provide resources and emotional support for those of us who have lost a spouse, child, parent, close relative or friend.  Those who have been widowed due to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are even fewer - not quite 4,000 in total.  Of those 4,000, the percentage of women who were also serving in the military at the time our spouses were killed represents such a bare minority that the numbers are currently unavailable.


Within this small population of war widows, I am, according to an article I recently read, the definition of a "modern" widow.  The modern widow is not an 80-year-old grandmother dressed in black whose life comes to a screeching halt the moment her husband takes his last breath.  The modern widow is a woman just like me - young.  Too young.  Yet, despite this growing trend, widowhood is still not "'a very major issue below age 50,' says Samuel Preston, a sociology professor at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. 'It just doesn't move the percentages'...The most recent Census data from 2009 show just 1.1% of women ages 35 to 39 are widows. Among those 30-34, it's 0.6%." (see http://www.usatoday.com/news/health/2010-08-11-widows11_ST_N.htm?loc=interstitialskip)  


I find it ironic that the article doesn't even mention a percentage for my age group.  Widows in their twenties don't make the cut - we must be that much of an anomaly.  It's funny how alone this makes me feel despite everyone around me constantly reiterating the mantra of "you are not alone!"  On some days, the reminder helps.  On others, it sounds like a broken record.  I consider myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to meet and speak with so many young widows just like me...and yet, according the statistics, there are proportionally very few of us.  I realize that's a good thing; it's just a lonely reality.  I am painfully aware of the fact that almost every "normal" person around me appears to be married or in a serious relationship headed in that general direction.  The first thing I usually look at when I meet someone new is not the color of their hair or eyes or the kind of clothes they wear - I look at their ring finger and, when I see the wedding band, I wonder to myself if that person knows how lucky they are to have the person they love be alive and well.  I look down at my own ring finger and wonder what they think when they see me, especially when they know what happened to Jon.  Is it pity?  Or relief, maybe, that it's me and not them?  I guess I'm just trying to fit in, even though I know in my heart that I don't.

The same day I read the modern widow article, I also read a story about a woman who, after sixty years of dead ends and conflicting answers, finally found out what became of her husband when he did not return home from WWII.  For many years, this woman had no idea if her husband was alive, dead, missing, or buried somewhere in Europe, yet she remained dutiful to him and her marriage vows:  in her words, "Billie was married to me all of his life, and I choose to be married to him all of my life."  After many frustrating and unsuccessful attempts to track down his whereabouts, Peggy finally discovered that Billie was laid to rest among his comrades in Normandy, France.  The date of death on his headstone is July 17, 1944.  Peggy now visits her husband frequently and sends flowers to the cemetery ten times a year.  Perhaps she's making up for lost time - for sixty years, this poor woman never got a knock on the door, or a telegram, or a straight answer - she lived with not only the question of "why," but also "what?" and "how?" for over half a century.  Forget about closure; the best Peggy says she can hope for at this point is acceptance.  And her visits help her get there.  Plus, she says, "after just six weeks together as husband and wife - and more than six decades apart - any time together is a treasure." (see http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18563_162-57447896/for-wwii-soldiers-widow-a-60-year-mystery-finally-solved/?fb_ref=fbrecT&fb_source=home_multiline)


The take-away from this second article is slightly more positive that what I felt after reading the first.  At least I know exactly what happened to my husband.  I read every report and I studied every available photograph taken on the scene of the explosion that caused his death.  Not everyone likes to know all the details to the degree that I do, but that's because everyone has their own way of dealing with the sadness of the reality.  For example, some people don't understand why I chose to view the autopsy pictures of Jon's lifeless body.  If it were them in my position, they assume that they'd rather remember their loved one alive and laughing, rather than lying there naked on a cold autopsy table.  My response to this assumption is simply that there was nothing I could imagine that was "bad enough" to deter me from seeing for myself what enemy combatants did to my husband.  I knew that his outer appearance did not represent the strength of his spirit, and I love him too much for the sight of any physical injuries to turn my stomach in horror.  Peggy, however, did not have the opportunity to obtain all the answers that I have sought, though in truth, knowing everything doesn't make the reality of Jon's absence any easier.  It stops my mind from asking the whats and the hows, but the whys will always remain.  For my own sake, I'm grateful for what I've been able to learn about the the events that unfolded up until my husband's last moments, but, just like Peggy, I think acceptance is ultimately the most I can hope to achieve.  Seeing Jon lying there in his casket was a confirmation of what my mind knew to be true, but it did not hammer home the fact that he will not come walking through the front door any day now.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I always wonder when I hear people talk about trying times (financial hardship, stress at work, family feuds, etc.) if they'd still consider those times "trying" in comparison to losing the one person who could always make even the most insurmountable of life's challenges sound easy.  Sometimes I feel resentful towards overly positive messages that I might otherwise believe if Jon were still sitting right here next to me.  Bubbly little sayings like "in all things, it is better to hope than to despair" and "think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy" ring false to me when the one thing that was so good and pure in my life is so conspicuously missing.  I guess everyone has to learn the hard way that people like Jon don't come into our lives too often...and once they do, we will never be the same.  I am the modern widow (and I can embrace it or reject it - either way, it is what is, right?)  I am young and I am proud and, deep down inside me somewhere, I know I am strong.  And like Peggy and Billie, I choose to be married to Jon for all my life.  Peggy may not be the "modern" widow, but she certainly has the right idea.  I thank Peggy for reminding me that it's okay to love one man forever.  For those lucky members of the population who will not fall into the 0.25% of the newly widowed this year, take a moment to tell your better half that you love and treasure every moment you spend with them, for you never know when a beautiful moment will become a cherished memory.