It’s “the first Christmas”. One of many firsts since my husband died. I somewhat hesitantly go to a Christmas gathering in the valley where I live. I bump into a friend whose husband died two weeks after mine and we start chatting to a woman we know who lost her husband three years ago.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.” she says, “It’s my third Christmas without him and it isn’t actually getting any easier.”. Tears well up in her eyes and gently slide down her face. “The widows’ club is just not a club I want to belong to. I’m sorry.”. She tells us a little more of how she is. It’s a struggle and she’s mainly just focused on her kids and their well-being – she has little left for herself at the end of the day. Then she hugs us and walks away.
And I get it. I really get it. It’s not a club I want to belong to either.