I’m still trying to figure this whole “widow” thing out. It seems to be what defines me lately. Of course, I’m the one who is letting it, so that is no one’s fault but my own.

I try not to sink into the abyss of depression. I try to not let “woe is me” become my mantra. I try, mostly successfully, to put on a smile and face the world outside my home by being the Kim I once was. Most days I leave her at the door when I re-enter my sanctuary. But some days, the old me stays with me a bit longer. I laugh, I have fun with friends, I think about the future past the next twenty-four hours.  I actually go for a walk, attempt to get back into my exercise routine, try to be the person that I want to be again.

But at the end of the day, I am alone.

The standard definition of a widow is : A widow is a woman whose spouse has died. A man whose spouse has died is a widower. The state of having lost one’s spouse to death is termed widowhood or (occasionally) viduity. The adjective is widowed.

I find that I have gone through a period of sorts with the whole thing. At first, when asked if I was married I would nod my head yes. Then, as the months wore on, I would hear my voice saying, “No, I’m a widow.” Now, I have circled back to nodding and then actually saying “yes”.

Random Human : “Are you married?”

My voice : “Yes.”

The blinking red neon sign in my brain : “But he’s DEAD, DEAD, DEAD.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

My inner voice: “But I am married.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

The sign in my mind has no off switch, I have found. No dangling cord for me to pull on, no switch to flip. It blinks at the most inconvenient times. At work, in the shower, at the store, at 3am while trying to sleep but the messages of worry and woe that the sign displays are so bright and piercing that they flash behind my eyelids like a shard of glass in the sun. Today it hummed to life whilst I was speaking to the two nice census takers that innocently interrupted my breakfast. When it came to the question of how many people resided on April 1st in this big rambling house, I could see them exchange a look when my answer was simply “one”.

My marital status?

“I’m married.”

Another look.

“Well, I’m actually a widow, so I guess that’s the box you need to check.”

An uncomfortable look. The downward glances. The inevitable “We’re sorry for your loss.” Then, the tables are turned, and I’m the one comforting them.

“Oh it’s ok, thanks. I’m fine.”

Neon sign : LIAR. LIAR. LIAR.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I hope the bulbs burn out eventually, the power that supplies it shorts out, I figure out how to sabotage it, something.

Until then, I live with it. I tolerate it.

There’s probably a pill that will make it go away, seems like there’s a pill for everything, so why not ? I tried something, briefly, but it wasn’t for me. I am one that wants to feel, wants to deal with the pain, not suppress it, where I fear it will fester and come roaring back after me with the ferocity of a lion.

So I go on about my days, my mind bathed in it’s glow, like some kind of internal tanning bed, lamenting my viduity.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Wake up. Reach over to the other side of the bed. Open your eyes and see the urn. It wasn’t a bad dream.

Mentally check your calendar to see if there is any reason to get up and deal with the world today.

Silently curse the reason there is.

Shower. Brush teeth. Try not to stare at his toothbrush, his razor, his stuff sitting on his sink. Smile at your favorite picture of the two of you wedged in the mirror to check your teeth.

Dress. Try to wear matching shoes and remember to button and zip everything. Maybe even brush hair.

Keys. Where the hell are they ?

Notice the clock. Peel out of driveway at warp speed.

Pick up the phone to call the attorney, bank, probate court, people who want money.

Where the hell is the phone?

Turn around, warp speed home. Silently curse more.

Decide to go to bedroom door instead of through garage for time management. Get to bedroom door. Reach in pocket for key.

Where the hell is the key ?

In the ignition of the car. That’s still running. That you actually remembered to put in park. (this time)

Get key.

Enter.

Get phone.

No missed calls. No one calls anyway. Who call’s for death?

Stand in middle of room because you can’t remember what to do next.

Oh. The world. Right.

Smile at picture again. Kiss urn goodbye, say out loud ” See you later baby ! ”

Get to car.

Locked.

Keys hanging in bedroom door.

Curse LOUDLY.

Get keys. Warp speed out into the world.

Hello world.

Smile. Nod. Smile.

Keep nodding.

Say hello !

I’m fine !

Thanks !

How are you ?

That’s great !

Wow !

Yes !

See you later !

I’ll be ok !

Nod.

Smile.

See a person wearing scrubs from the hospital he died at.

Look away.

Tell yourself don’t think about IT.

Don’t even go there. IT wasn’t your fault.

What if I’d …….

I said stop, didn’t I ?

Smile.

Nod.

Get an overwhelming urge to hide in the bathroom until they force you to come out.

Suppress the urge.

Go into a store. Hear a song he used to sing (off-key) to you.

Leave store like your behind is on fire. Wipe tears.

Say the hell with the day.

Go home.

Get mail.

Look at bills. Read letters addressed to “The Estate Of……”

Laugh and say something about blood and turnips.

Bubble bath. Relax.

Look over at the counter where he’d sit and talk to you while you were in the bubble bath.

Close eyes. Stop thinking about it.

Pajamas.

Hungry.

Oops, didn’t go to the grocery store. Was running low on smiles and nods, couldn’t take it.

Hello Pizza Man.

Talk to the friends that live in your computer and watch happy TV shows where no one dies.

Get back in bed.

Toss and turn.

Can’t get comfortable.

Can’t turn mind off.

What was that creak ?

Who just said my name?

Sleep.

Dream. There he is ! Happy dreams. Mostly.

Til 3 am.

Hello Insomnia !

Milk. Maybe a cookie. Or peanut butter. Or cheese. Possibly both.

Play Words With Friends.

Get sleepy.

Fall asleep.

Wake up. Reach over …….

Lather, rinse, repeat.

My tolerance for douche-baggery and general dumbassedness in general seems to have become almost non-existent these days. I’m not sure if it’s “grief stress” or just life in general that’s making me that way, I just know me, and my fuse these days ? Shorter than Gary Coleman.

Bullet-List example …..

• I overheard a woman in the store bitching about her C-PAP machine and how uncomfortable it was, and she just couldn’t figure out how her breathing could effect her sleep…..while she was buying CIGARETTES. I felt like jamming them up her ass and setting a lighter to her nostrils.
• A woman leaving Target with her small son in 38 degree weather, telling him it was his fault he was cold because he was “Mr. I won’t wear a jacket.” Hey MOM ? MOM = you are the PARENT. Make him wear one. Or do us a favor and don’t breed again. Break even on the gene pool please.
• A woman in front of me who threw a McDonalds cup out the window at a red light, while her two kids watched from the back seat. I got out, picked up the cup, and politely as I could told her to keep her trash to herself when I felt like slapping her dumb ass. Instead I told her I was reporting her to DHR for being an unfit parent. Chew on that with your Big Mac, biatch.
• I spent 15 minutes in Belk at The Summit last night looking at clothes while the sales clerk hung up new stock whilst chatting away on her cell phone. I was looking for something in particular and not once did she acknowledge my presence. I took my purchases downstairs to customer service where I paid and asked them to explain to her what that term means and to tell her to tell Kesha that I hope that rash clears up.
• If you’re still going to write a freaking check at Publix – please for the love of all that is good have your ID in your hand with your check ! Don’t send your child out to the car to get it out of the cup holder while I’m behind you or next time,  I may be using your anus as a corkscrew for that pinot noir I was trying to buy.
• People that cannot make a simple decision without checking in via phone with their significant other for every.single.detail. Who dials for you when you need to see if it’s ok to wipe your ass ?
• The media. Must we blow EVERY single thing that happens across the world into OMG IT’S A TRAGEDY AND WE MUST ALL EMPTY OUR BANK ACCOUNTS? I love a good drama but I usually only like to see Geraldo once or twice a week.
• Methodist’s (or anyone claiming to be a “good christian” ) in self-righteous, lying, money grubbing sheep’s clothing. Yes, I mean you. And the rest of your family. Hypocritical asshats, all of you. But please, keep reading! I have much more to say to you.

So that’s what’s lighting my fuse today. I honestly think it’s a combination of stress, worry, the upcoming death-a-versary and just life in general. Maybe once my two spring breaks arrive and I get a change of scenery I’ll have a change of attitude. Until then, to quote Jack Nicholson in one of my favorite movies evah ,  ”Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.”