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| DIY WIDOWHEAD |
Easter brought forward the part of my mind and heart that is what I privately know as "WidowHead." It opens like a closed off, concealed room of the house. I might be found there. I don't usually invite people. If you are a widow who has lost the love you built your life around, then you probably have built a room like that. There is a great deal of happiness and joy there, and some pain. I look upon the pain as a sort of "cover charge" for going into this room.
The message of Easter, when it first started up a couple thousand years ago, changed the world forever. People one day thought that life was controlled by fate and gods. The next day, many people were recording in written documents and talking about a message that death is not the end, and fate doesn't control the quality of your life: You do. People at that time started acting differently, expecting differently and the more this message and attitude was suppressed by governments or the powerful, the bigger it got! It went on long enough to catch on. There are plenty of people trying to live life in the light of love and caring for others now. Knowing all that, Easter Day kick starts a whole lot of dreaming and gratitude for me. Ever since Ted died, Easter has also been a reminder of a personal belief that death is indeed not the end.
My family and I had an egg hunt for the little kids -- I have six grandchildren who live nearby. What a joy it is to see kids ages two to nine get together for a party and a treasure hunt. It digs into my heart that Ted is not here as my date for such an event. We held hands a lot when he was alive, so I have to keep my hands busy with doing. At the same time, his children are there with me and I don't think he is missing anything. But it is a pang. After the party, I was alone in that most private of rooms. Joy and pain. Now it is officially time to get myself seriously out in the garden. Two grandsons who are two and nine years old wanted to help me plant salad mix. The next day, the nine-year-old wanted to plant nasturtiums. I was able to show him how to soak the hard seeds for a better result. Somehow, when I'm in dirt with a grandchild, Ted is right there. I don't know how it works, this other world, this spirit world. But there he is. It reminds me of a rhyme I used to say to the kids about this time every year:
For everything you need to know, plant a seed and watch it grow.
WidowHead also has practical messages for me. How much of the work I have to do can I do myself? How much will I need family help to get done? How much will I need to contract out? How much will that cost, and what can I do to my budget to make room for that expense? I think every widow goes into her version of the WidowHead every week when the garbage has to be taken out. For me, I think about it this way: In a retirement complex, somebody will do all the Ted chores for me, as part of the rent. But I won't be in charge of a half-acre of land, with woods and a garden. So I stay where I am, and stretch my leftovers to save money for some hired help. On garbage day, I take it all out to the curb and sometimes get angry that Ted is not magically making it lighter. Or, better yet, take it out, would you? WidowHead -- my brain, my heart, and this closed off room in my house that opens up occasionally, is what I need to cope with the loss of a partner and witness to my life and a dose of daily hand-holding, back-patting, "Everything is going to work out. You'll see." Ted is there, and not there. Joy and pain are there. Solutions to practical problems of widowhood are there.
I can feel the WidowHead, and the room, closing today. I found a great article on the AARP Blog: Secret to a happy life. Also, a message from Valarie Harper that is jazzy and inspirational. Both helped me lock it all up and get outside. I'm grateful for Spring and a season of hope and planting. I'm not alone.
A Wonderful Message from Valerie Harper
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