Even after seven years, I occasionally find myself center in one or more of these paragraphs, especially during  the aloneness of a pandemic. I know that some of you who visit here are new to this journey, it was tragically thrusted upon you, so I share Alisha’s thoughts. A word of encouragement, though: as life weaves in and out, you’ll reread this, thinking, “I don’t identify with this painful definition quite as much anymore and when I land back here, it’s not for long.  “ Robin

“Widowhood is more than missing your spouse’s presence. It is adjusting to an alternate life. It is growing around a permanent amputation.

Widowhood is going to bed for the thousandth time, and still, the loneliness doesn’t feel normal. The empty bed a constant reminder. The night no longer brings intimacy and comfort, but the loudness of silence and the void of connection.

Widowhood is walking around the same house you have lived in for years and it no longer feeling like home. Because “home” incorporated a person. And they’re not there. Homesickness fills your heart and the knowledge that it will never return haunts you.

Widowhood is seeing all your dreams and plans you shared as a couple crumble around you. The painful process of searching for new dreams that include only you amount to climbing Mount Everest. And every small victory of creating new dreams for yourself includes a new shade of grief that their death propelled you to this path.

Widowhood is second guessing everything you thought you knew about yourself. Your life had molded together with another’s and without them you have to relearn all your likes, hobbies, fears, goals. The renaissance of a new person makes you proud and heartbroken simultaneously.

Widowhood is being a stranger in your own life. The unnerving feeling of watching yourself from outside your body, going through the motions of what was your life, but being detached from all of it. You don’t recognize yourself. Your previous life feels but a vapor long gone, like a mist of a dream you begin to wonder if it happened at all.

Widowhood is the irony of knowing if that one person was here to be your support, you would have the strength to grieve that one person. The thought twists and confuses you. If only they were here to hold you and talk to you, you’d have the tenacity to tackle this unwanted life. To tackle the arduous task of moving on without them.

Widowhood is missing the one person who could truly understand what is in your heart to share. The funny joke, the embarrassing incident, the fear compelling you or the frustration tempting you. To anyone else, you would have to explain, and that is too much effort, so you keep it to yourself. And the loneliness grows inside you.

Widowhood is struggling with identity. Who are you if not their spouse? What do you want to do if not the things you planned together? What brand do you want to buy if not the one you two shared for all those years? What is your purpose if the job of investing into your marriage is taken away? Who is my closest companion when my other half isn’t here?

Widowhood is feeling restless because you lost your home, identity, partner, lover, friend, playmate, travel companion, co-parent, security, and life. And you are drifting with an unknown destination.

Widowhood is living in a constant state of missing the most intimate relationship. No hand to hold. No body next to you. No partner to share your burden.

Widowhood is being alone in a crowd of people. Feeling sad even while you’re happy. Feeling guilty while you live. It is looking back while moving forward. It is being hungry but nothing sounding good. It is every special event turning bittersweet.

Yes. It is much more than simply missing their presence. It is becoming a new person, whether you want to or not. It is fighting every emotion mankind can feel at the very same moment and trying to function in life at the same time.

Widowhood is frailty. Widowhood is strength. Widowhood is darkness. Widowhood is rebirth.

Widowhood…..

is life changing."

Alisha Bozarth

June’s almost over and I’ve glanced at this encouragement  in my hallway way too many times this month. And buried my head in the Truth pages, repeatedly  reminding myself I’m not alone; He lifts my head, my wings. 
But LORD, this is hard stuff to navigate. I’ve searched healthcare plans, home improvements, technology, finances. Sometimes, I just want to hand it off, glance over for a reassuring nod, make a decision together. I want another breathing human being to read the instructions alongside me or simply huff in unison when there are no clearcut steps. Learning curves bend easier when traveling in pairs. 
Yet, lessons have been learned: it’s okay for me to say no to more responsibility because solo decision-making takes energy and time, I don’t need to beat myself for not helping others every time I see a need (survival is my full-time mission) and sometimes, I just have to climb out on the shaky, scary limb. I think that’s called, Trust. 

I feel invisible.
I make myself invisible.
What a quandary!
Who am I, this woman missing a chunk of her heart?
I search the Faithful One who sees the overwhelmed...the overlooked.  
Lady in waiting... 

...and the reproach of your widowhood you will remember no more. For your Maker is your husband, the LORD of hosts is his name. Isaiah 54:4-5 ESV

God, our Maker, becomes our Other Half,  a sweet devotional carved from Isaiah's words addressing captive Israel, widowed far away in Babylon.  I can see why the writer offers these verses to present-day widows, but Other Half just sits uncomfortably with me.  
Better described as My All, no divide, because Jesus fills. Other Half reminds me of Legos, plastic fitting snugly together and completed pie charts.  
Jesus, oh the Air I Breathe, finds his way into every needy air sac, every messy cell, when I invite Him.
When I invite Him...I must not forget that Jesus is a gentleman groom.  I'm a slow learner it seems; this "all" takes time for me to breathe in deeply. 
I wonder if this divine relationship is similar to our earthly marriages. We begin as two strong identities tethered, but at some point the divide blurs.  I began as nurse, artist, baby Christian (in that order,)but through miles of for better for worse, in sickness and health, I crept into Rob's DNA and he, mine. 
I want even more blur with Jesus...less of me, so more of Him. I need Him to become my DNA!
Jesus promises to fill, not fit...promises to invade, not just complete. 

Prior to beginning my random discourse, I fully anticipate you will probably think, She has way too much time on her hands. Actually not! But, since writing is my livelihood on several levels, I carve out a few minutes each day to try and make sense of this upset apple cart called Life.
The "W" word...Widow. I hate that word and the circumstances that lead me to even ponder it! The very sound of it conjures up negative images of dark clad dowagers, embittered Naomi's, and the worst image of all, me, past my prime, used up, pitiful.
I search for a better name to coin myself, but Webster and Oxford fail me. The Old English root, widewe, means be emptied; Yes, that's me, along with shattered and lost. I realize the legal eagles need a word to conduct the business of the lost. True, I'm neither single nor married, though I still feel very married. My inclination... strike the widow status and rename it parted!  Oh how I wish we weren't parted. 
Mrs. Rob Moore...Thank you, Emily Post, for not robbing me of that title, one that informs my world that our love never ends.
Like every other pain in this difficult journey, I must address this one as well before it consumes me. I suppose I will always bristle a bit when faced with this uncomfortable moniker, but the discovery of an obscure definition gives me great pause and forces me to reconsider my hatred.  According to the Collins English Dictionary, the last definition for widow is "to deprive of something valuable or desirable." 
Rob Moore...valuable beyond words!  
I must reshape my image of this word, embracing it as a tribute to a wonderful man with whom I had the privilege of sharing many years of happiness. I need to give this common pejorative a makeover, in word and example. 

Widow declares we were madly in love...he's gone...I'm deprived of someone so desirable and treasured that I live with great pain and emptiness, but...before the world stands a woman who saw love to the end, who devoted her life to her man in sickness and health and who now chooses to seek and share joy until they reunite.  Widowhood: the courageous battle of taking up where two were planted, keeping her beloved alive in the hearts of others, and entrusting her legacy, their legacy, to her great God.