New World Order

It seems I’ve entered another universe.  I guess this happens when your spouse dies and you’re trying to figure out how to move forward without your partner.

Since I knew this was coming for a few years now and had already been operating pretty much on my own as my husband’s decline in Alzheimer’s took him away from me a long time ago, I was kind of used to taking care of everything for us.  There was a sense of relief for him and for myself that he was done with this journey.  The overwhelming grief in the finality of his death, with him no longer being here with me, even in his reduced capacity really rocked my foundation.

In my recent posts I talked a lot about my grief and how I was coping.  In my last post I talked about starting to find pieces of who I was before we started going through this.  I’ve been actively seeking ways to heal in order to return to the living.  (More about that some other time, too deep for this post). But, I’m also discovering there is another whole level of reality being labeled as a widow, when I see myself as an independent woman just trying to maneuver this stage of my life.  I always thought of myself as “grown woman” who had made the choice to marry and live with the love of my life and that’s the way I operated.  We had a partnership in life.  We each brought ourselves to the table and did our best to love each other and build a life together.

But, from society’s point of view, I was a wife. And now that my husband is gone, I am a widow.  OK, yes.  Technically I was a wife and he was my husband because (duh) we got married.  But being a wife isn’t what defined who or what I was.  I was me living my life with the one I loved.  I was still an individual who chose that life.  Now I am an individual who is moving on without the love of my life.  But, still today I am being treated as an appendage of the marriage.  I just don’t get it.  The people who wouldn’t talk to me about our joint bills without his permission, just because his name was first on the account. I get all the bullshit about privacy and protection, but really?  I’m just trying to resolve the situation on a joint bill or account because that’s what I bring to the table in our partnership.  He fixes things, I pay the bills.  Don’t even get me started on how insurance cards were in his name only until recent years.  Or correcting some fucking salesperson who thinks he’s the primary buyer of the motorcycle or truck.   I’m not a fucking appendage to my husband.  Or, open an account in his name, not mine.  I could go on forever.

The last couple days have been trying my patience quite a bit.  One credit card company hung up on me when I told them my husband wasn’t there, he died.  One credit card company just removed him from being the primary.  No hassle, no problem.  Then there was the credit card company that sent me soaring off the cliff.  They called me the other day on my way into the city.  They were calling to collect payment on a credit card from his estate.  In the course of the conversation, they informed me that the credit card had been shut down.  We were both on the account, but since the “primary” had died they shut it down.  I damn near drove off the road as I started yelling at them.  I was pounding the center counsel of the truck, swearing and yelling at them because that was the joint card we had together that was used only for the monthly bills that gave us a discount for being on the card which we paid off every month.  Now, my bills aren’t going to get paid and I’m going to have to go to each of those companies and re-set up those payments.  I’m not even sure which ones they are (it was a setup and forget situation once it was taken care of).  So now I gotta spend countless hours and dealing with stupid figuring that out and setting that up.  I was fucking livid.  Why did they have to shut the card down?  I’m still alive, and quite frankly the one who has been paying the bills all along, since all his money was paying for his memory care.  Again, I guess I don’t count, I’m just a fucking appendage.  I can’t remember exactly whether I told him or just said it to the truck as I hung up on him, but the last words out of my mouth were “you can just eat that fucking money, there’s no fucking estate and since I don’t count, I’m not fucking paying you” or something like that.  It still pisses me off.  My heart is still pumping up some incredible “Fuck you’s.”  Guess I’ll have to work a bit more on letting that one go.

Another interesting experience tonight.  This one was all in my mind, though.  I live in a townhome association of twin homes, with a pretty cool semi-private back yard.  When the weather is nice, I’m always on the patio.  The twin homes next to me are each owned by women who have lost their husbands as well.  Over the past few summers we are often outside at the same time and have gotten to know each other well.  The two of them often have Happy Hour on one of their patios and I’ve joined them when I could.  It’s a beautiful day today and I noticed their patio furniture wasn’t out yet, so I invited them to my patio for Happy Hour.  I don’t see much of them in the winter when we “hole up” in our heated garages to smoke.  They came over and we had a great visit catching up.  Of course, we discussed the fact that this end of the townhome association is really the “Widow’s Corner.’  There are now 5 widows out of 6 homes.  OK, I really enjoy my friendship with these women, always have.  Don’t get me wrong, but after they left, I’m thinking to myself…”Now I’m part of the “widow’s club.  That certainly wasn’t a life goal of mine, but here I am.”  What a mind fuck. I don’t know what I thought being a “widow” was all about but why am I here?  That’s not me.  Oh Fuck.  I guess that is me.  That’s what that label says.  Now a few hours later, having written most of this, I’m thinking.  OK, if I’m a widow, I’m going to be a widow my way.  I can conquer this fucking New World Order.  Look out. Don’t get in my way.

Love and Peace,

Chick