Dowager is a Dirty Word

I had been visiting with a lovely group of older ladies in a nursing home when it happened.

One woman turned to the other and introduced me. 

“This is Tim’s widow,” she said. 

It took the wind out of me.  I did NOT like that word.  It’s a sad word.  It's a sad phrase all together.  It meant that I was no longer Tim's wife.  Tim was gone.  And it meant that I was alone. 

I couldn’t escape their presence quickly enough.  I bit the inside of my cheek as I politely said my good-byes, walked swiftly to my car and burst into tears.  

I didn’t want to be a widow.  "Tim's widow."

“Single” is a difficult title as it is for a women, but WIDOW?!  It’s a word that belongs to older people and spiders.  My grandpa is a widower. My dad is a widower.  I’m in my 30’s.  I can't be a widow.

Perhaps there could be a different word out there?  “Unmarried?” “Formerly Hitched?”  "Had-a-Ring-on-it?"

Have you ever looked up synonyms for it?  Because I have and that’s of NO HELP at all.  In jolly ol’ England, I might be referred to as a “Dowager.”

“A dowager is a widow who holds a title or property, or dower, derived from her deceased husband. As an adjective, "dowager" usually appears in association with monarchical and aristocratic titles.

In loose popular usage, dowager as a stand-alone noun may be used to refer to any elderly widow, especially one who is wealthy or behaves with dignity.”

Seriously.  That's the word they came up with.  And it's not even pretty.  It's an ugly word or phrase like, "diarrhea," or, "dandruff," or, "knock-off handbag."

And pretty sure I’m not elderly and I definitely wouldn’t say I act with dignity on a daily basis, so I guess I'm shit out of luck across the pond.

REMIND ME TO NEVER MOVE TO ENGLAND.

There have been times, however, that I’ve really enjoyed upsetting those who look at my ring finger and assume my specific category might be “single.”  The lady at H&R Block cried.  And as much as I don't prefer the elderly to cry in my presence...when you assume you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me."  Don't feel bad for her.

Or when someone knows that I’m a widow before meeting me.  They're shocked when I appear.  Almost like the way Jillian Michaels looked when the anorexic looking winner from the Biggest Loser had her big reveal.  (I don't care what they say.  That girl is NOT healthy.)  They size me up and choose their words slowly and carefully, like I may fall apart if they choose the wrong ones.  “Oh.  You’re our new neighbor?  I thought you were…..I mean I just assumed you were…….older.”

And then, sometimes, you spend your time trying, in vain, to escape it.  You lie about it.  You avoid checking the box marked "widow" at the dentist's office.  You smile and nod when an old lady at the Town Hall pats your hand gently and says, "I'm sure you'll get married one day."  I envisioned patting her hand back and saying, "Maybe someday.  You're old, though, so you'll most likely be dead by then."

Call me mean.  Call me rude.  I often say what others are even afraid to think.

And then one day….you don’t want to run from it anymore.  You no longer mind the slow sentences and stares.  You no longer mind the sympathetic looks.  You no longer envision telling old ladies their time on earth is coming to a close.

Because one day you realize that this title means your marriage once existed.  It means your husband existed.  It means he lived.  And it means that you survived what came next.

And that's where I'm at now.

I’m proud to be a widow now.  I wear it like a badge of honor.  I tell everyone because I want to tell everyone about Tim.

Being a widow doesn’t mean I’m elderly.  It doesn’t mean I’m sad.  It means I have experienced great sadness, yes, but it also means I'm independent.  It means I'm resilient.  It means I’m courageous and it means I’m strong. 

I am no longer a wife.  I am a widow, but I'm a badass widow.  I’m Tim’s widow.