For me, it was always a sweet, soft word. Widow was a grandma. She has gray hair and she knits. She and her husband were lifelong companions. They were married for 40 years. They had two grown children together, and several grandchildren. With her at his side, he dies peacefully of "old age." Though she misses him terribly, she is now free to do the things that she always wanted to do, but couldn't because she was taking care of him, and she takes trips to Europe and visits the grandkids.
Wrong. The reality of the word widow for me is just so different. It never occurred to me that widows were young. I guess I knew a few, but it never changed the image for me. The word is so strong and harsh and painful.
I'm here to show you that widows come in all shapes and sizes. Some of us are cute. I'm 31 and a half. I have blonde curly hair and a curvy figure. I'm a little fluffy in the middle but I'm working on it. There is nothing grandma-ish about me...
I'm almost a year into my journey. It's been amazing to me all of the things that I've learned. As an American, we have so few customs when it comes to grief. There is no structure to our grief. There is no manual for how to be a widow or how to handle one. I was thinking that I would use this to share what I'm going through. Maybe it will be helpful to other widows and to people who know widows.