Widowhood: Six Years Today

Six years ago, on Sunday, October 16, 2005 at 9:10 a.m. my husband died. His heart stopped beating, his lungs quit taking in air, his brain waves went flat. A few minutes later, the doctor on call pronounced him dead.

Lives end in such a cold, clinical way. Within an hour, after the chaplain had spoken with me and the children had come to say a last goodbye, the nurse urged me from the room. Another patient would need the space, another battle would be fought…maybe won, maybe lost.

So this is my sixth anniversary of widowhood. People congratulate me for how well I’ve “gotten over” the loss, how I’ve gone on with my life. I had no choice, did I? There was no, “Would you like to go on or would you rather not?”

I didn’t imagine I could ever manage alone. I didn’t think I’d smile again or wake without reaching for Ralph or look forward to the future. I do all those things, but I haven’t gotten over the loss. I’ve just learned to live a different life.

I’ve learned to look forward…and backward. I cherish memories of conversations, laughter, even arguments (Yes, once I socked him in front of his mother. No one in either of our families has forgotten that.) I look back on the times when our children (two mine, one his) were small, when they had their tedious, awful teenage years we thought we’d never live through, the weddings, our granddaughter’s birth and how she loved Ralph, her Popo. We had a good life and I can be glad for that, even if our time together was too short.

Last weekend was the Jewish Day of Atonement. Not only do we pray then to be inscribed for life for the next year, but we take time to remember our loved ones who passed away. So here, in memory of Ralph, is the part of the memorial service that I love the best:

In the rising of the sun and in its going down,
We remember them.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We remember them.

In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring,
We remember them.

In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of the summer,
We remember them.

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
We remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,
We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart,
We remember them.

When we have joys we yearn to share,
We remember them.

So long as we live, they, too, shall live,
For they are part of us,
As we remember them.

June 23: International Widows Day

June 23, International Widows Day.

When I first saw this on the Internet, I thought, "So now we get a day? Is this like Mother's Day? Do we get presents? Cards? Flowers? And from whom?"

Or this could be a day for reflecting on our status as widows. A time to try to erase the stereotype of widows as black-clad victims and teach the world to view us as what we really are--survivors. We've had no choice but to survive, to continue our life journeys alone. Most of us have grown braver over the years. Like rocks continually buffeted by wind and rain, we've lost some of the rough edges of early widowhood. We've learned to ignore careless words, to face life challenges. We haven't chosen this path, but here we are, so we're doing our best. Congratulations to us.

The real purpose of International Widows Day is to highlight a day on which the world is asked to focus, if only for 24 hours, on the plight of widows in third world countries. These are women whose problems are so staggering just because they are widowed that we can hardly imagine them. These are women who often must work as virtual slaves, who are villified, raped, ostracized just because their husbands have died. If you're a widow, or even if you aren't, spare a thought and a prayer for these women. Or if you can, contribute some small amount for their welfare. Google International Widows Day for suggestions.

The Ambiguities of Widowhood

Obstacles versus challenges

Memories versus plans

Loneliness versus freedom

Fear versus resilience

Regret versus gratitude

Turning inward versus reaching out

Solitude versus community

Widowhood Space

This blog post was inspired by a great site called www.themethursday.blogspot.com Each week a picture related to a theme is posted and bloggers are invited to write about it, use it in a photograph or a poem or a piece of art. The theme this week was Space. The site owner posted a photograph of Earth taken from space.

But space can mean lots of things, and the word inspired me to think of the space I live in and how it has expanded and contracted over the years.

Soon after Ralph and I married we bought a house for our blended family. It was a typical suburban three-bedroom, two-bath house, but we added another kid bedroom and a master bedroom and bath in the space that took up most of the back yard. Now each child had a bedroom, plus we used one bedroom for a play room. The house was soon crammed with three children and an assortment of pets. And I do mean assortment--dog, gerbils, guinea pig, rabbit, turtles, a short-lived iguana and two mice named Timid and Brave. Yet despite the lack of yard space and the squeaking and squawking of animals along with the children's chatter, the house never seemed crowded. We had space for books and ball and bikes, including Bryan's beloved unicycle which he rode to school. When the kids were in high school, we converted our garage into a game room and bought a pool table. Now our driveway was crowded with cars, the sounds of rock music and ringing phones filled the air, and the space was just right.

Then all three left for college. Most of the time, the house was quieter, but we still needed space for school holidays and semester breaks. His first semester at UT, Michael came home from Austin on weekends, lugging his dirty laundry. Lori returned bringing Ricky, her lab rat, and Bryan deposited his coin collection in our safe.

Suddenly our children were full-fledged adults: Lori married and attending vet school at Texas A&M, Michael working for an ad agency in New York and Bryan living on his own. The house still seemed just right.

For a while, Michael and his wife and son lived with us, and Gabriella was born during their stay. Now the rooms included baby paraphernalia and elementary school supplies. Surprisingly, our house seemed the right size, although our driveway was again a bit crowded.

Michael's family moved out and for a long time, it was just Ralph and me. And Ralph's computer, which because of his work as a consultant, was a member of the family. A quiet home, with two past-middle-age occupants. Room for Ralph's endless files, a place for me to write. Perfect.

Now Ralph is gone. I inhabit this space alone, with two cats for company. I thought I wouldn't be able to stay here on my own. The house was too large for one person, too lonely. But I've gotten used to it. And though I miss Ralph every day, I don't mind being here by myself. A couple of weeks ago, some uninvited guests arrived in the attic--squirrels or possums, I don't know which. (I hope they weren't rats). The nice people from Critter Control came and repaired the many holes that some creature with sharp teeth had gnawed.

I thought about replacing the wood parts of the house with Hardee Plank (probably around $20,000) Nope. I thought about putting the house up for sale and moving somewhere smaller. Isn't this place way too big for a widow lady and her cats?

But my pictures are all hung in the right places, I have enough bookshelves for my many books, there's a room where I see a few kids for speech therapy, I'm close to everywhere I want to go...no, I won't sell. The house is small enough and cozy. Now, as always, my space is just right.


Welcome to my home


Entry hall: 5 generations of family history in hats



Living room


Part of The Monster, Ralph's plant that I promised not to cut down

Readers' Memoirs of Widowhood

Here are the 6-word memoirs posted by readers.

Left behind; must find own way.

It is Painful. Scary. Lonely. Unwanted.

Tested by fire, surviving by love.

I wish for a do over.

Not what I planned for us.

Life is short. Make it count.

Miss everything about us, my love.

Gotta kill my own bugs.

I love hard and mourn harder.

Six words? Can't touch my loss.

He is gone; I am here

So lonely, he shoud be here.

I'll not let death define me.

I'd do it all over again.


It's not too late to post yours. I'll be drawing a name for the book on Wednesday next week.

Widowhood in 6 Words

Widowhood isn’t for sissies. Stay strong.

Emulate Tim Gunn. Make it work.

Better the widow than the deceased.

Lost my partner, what’ll I do?

Death snatched my love. I’m lonely

A piece of my heart's missing.

Husband fixed everything. I’m a klutz.

Miss having someone to argue with.

Navigating Widowhood Ocean, I’m seasick.

Wake at night, hug my cat.

Seeking handsome elderly widower. Any takers?


Have a 6-word comment about widowhood? Add it here.
If you're not a widow, add a 6-word life lesson.
I'll add your memoirs to the blog at the end of the week.
I'll draw names after 10 days. Or maybe we'll have a vote. Winner gets a copy of a 6-word memoir book.

Interview with Bernice Bright Dickey, Author of My #1 is Still My #1

First and foremost, how are you and Miriam doing now?

Miriam and I are thriving now where we were only surviving the accident before! She is a fourth grader enjoying her friends and playing soccer.

Are you still working in the school system or are you a full-time minister?

I am in ministry full time now, I do educational consulting for districts as opportunity permits as well as traveling doing speaking engagements and book signings for My #1 Is Still My #1!

You wrote this as a journal during that first hard year after the death of your husband and daughter. What prompted you to publish it?

I was prompted by God to share my grief journey and recovery process with others to inspire them to believe that they can (will come) through their own pain victoriously just like I did. They are not alone, there are answers and they will make it through their crisis.

Tell us about the process you went through to publish.



I self published my book because I wanted to control the content and integrity of the book as God directed me to write it.
It took me five months to develop the manuscript and it was published in three days!


What kinds of feedback have you gotten about the book?

Many who have read the book have shared that they have received a breakthrough in their grief journey and they have been released from the stress of being stuck in their grieving process. They are grateful to know that someone else has gone through tragedies, came through them and lived to talk about it to share with others as an encouragement.

Is there another book in your future?

I have many other testimonies to share of God's Transforming Stories in my life and the lives of others. My family wants me to write about their experiences of loss and devastation as Hurricane Katrina survivors. Ministers and Pastors' wives have asked that I write about our role in ministry with our husbands so that others can really understand what we do for effective ministry to go forth.

Since this is a widows’ site, tell us a little more about the rest of your grief journey. How has it gotten easier over the years?



Initially, I really didn't want to be labeled a widow. If I was a widow that meant I was accepting the fact that my husband was dead and had left me alone to raise our daughter. I didn't want the title because I didn't want to be a single parent. As the years have passed, I realized that the job I was avoiding (being a single parent) was the same job that I was doing very well according to observers. I have finally accepted that I am single and raising my daughter alone (for now) and I've been doing it for quite some time. It hasn't gotten any easier because Miriam is growing up and is going through all of the stages that kids go through. I have decided to be fully present mentally as well as physically in order to help her become all that God has called her to be. He saved her out the accident for a reason and He has trusted me with this special parenting assignment and I will do my very best to make Him proud of His trust in me!


Many bereaved people have some sort of ritual to commemorate the loss. Do you?

Miriam and I celebrate my late husband and daughter's birthdays with cake and ice cream. Our loved ones live in our hearts and we cherish their memories and include them as often as treasured moments allow us to. We acknowledge their spirits in every celebration we share stating that if they could be present physically they would be front and center for us.

I don't commemorate the date of the accident because I choose to focus on their lives rather than the date of their deaths. I do recognize how many years have passed when the date comes around but I choose not to dwell on it.


Thank you for sharing your pain and recovery. Best wishes for the future.

Widowhood: A Puzzle

I heard a speaker at a conference today who made me think about widowhood in a new way. He said life is like a puzzle. Until the end of life, we’re all unfinished puzzles. How are we going to put the pieces together?

After we lose someone we love, the pieces will never fit together in the same way again. A piece we used to have will forever be missing. So we have to find a way to reassemble the parts that are left.

Some of us begin looking for a piece to replace the one that’s gone by entering a new relationship. It won’t be the same as the one that’s gone, but for some, it may be a good fit. Others don’t even want to think of replacing that empty space, but they still must struggle to build a life around that hole. How? I met a widow recently who fills her life with activity—day trips, bridge games, lunches—yet though they fill her time, they don’t seem to heal the emptiness. Another widow I know stays at home, unable to push herself back into the world. She’s unhappy about it but she can’t make that leap into single life, at least not yet. Others accept that life won’t be the same but rearrange the pieces of their puzzle to make the best of it. Who else is part of each widow’s picture? Children? Aging parents? Friends? Other family members? Are they supportive or unsupportive? Do they add responsibilities or make life easier? That, too, will influence the way a widow shuffles the puzzle pieces to come up with a new design.

I wonder what each of you has done with your unfinished puzzle. And what does your puzzle depict? A lone tree with bare branches? A butterfly slowly emerging from a cocoon? A garden beginning to bloom? An empty house? I think mine is a turtle peeking out of its shell and creeping forward.

May all of us keep working at our puzzles until the final moment, when the design is complete.

Comments are always welcome, so please leave one.

Getting Through the Wilderness: The Desert

William Bridges, who works with both organizational and individual transitions, speaks of the three-phase journey of transition and likens it to the journey from Egypt of the ancient Israelites. As widows, traveling from couplehood to independent self-hood, we, too, traverse these three stages.

For us, the first stage is abrupt, sometimes unexpected, always painful. It happens when our spouse draws a last breath. Even if we think we were prepared, we aren't. And, like the Israelites, we don't leap from an ending to a new beginning in an instant. Instead, we enter what Bridges call "the neutral zone," a time of transition. The Israelites weren't ready to enter the Promised Land until enough time had passed for them to truly leave Egypt behind. They needed a whole new generation to take the place of the former slaves before they were ready as a nation to control their own destiny.

Bridges says during that time of chaos and confusion, we need some early successes to keep us going. I planned a memorial service, got through my first day back at work, cooked a meal just for myself after having eaten at the hospital for seven months. Small successes but oh, how I needed them to bolster my confidence.

But we shouldn't foorce outselves to speed through our desert of transition, Bridges says. We need to give it time, and that time varies. What worked for me might not for you. We pass through rocky terrain, thirst for our lost loved one, shiver in the cold desert nights. Bridges cautions us to take our time until we're ready for a new beginning. And even when we do take on a new identity, just as the Israelites keep the Exodus in their collective memory, we, too, will keep that old life, that old way of being in our hearts.