The Gift

[Brenda Hoskins]

Eight months ago, my husband gave me a gift.  It wasn't a gift that I asked for, wanted, or was even willing to accept until just now.  You see, he died.  Very suddenly and unexpectedly.  A blood clot to the lung, they told me.

What kind of a gift is that?  We weren't unhappy - quite the opposite.  We had a 30 year, mostly happy marriage.  I say "mostly" because no one is perfectly happy.  If they say they are, they are lying.  We had struggles, financial and emotional, as couples often do.  We raised two sons who are very fine humans.  We also had a great deal of fun together.  We were so different that someone once referred to us as "a nasty cocktail."  That description always amused him - in fact, he had it inscribed on a gift to me for our 10th anniversary.  "The nasty cocktail continues..."

So the gift he has given me is freedom and another chance to live my life any way I choose.  He was the kindest and most thoughtful man.  A bit fatalistic as well - he's been telling me since we got married that he was going to do this but I never really believed him.  I don't know how he knew, but he did know that his life would be short.  Because of this, he encouraged me (kicked my ass is a more accurate description) to pursue my interests, to get the education I wanted, to make outrageous plans.  The one thing most important to him was that, in the event he did check out early, that I would not be burdened.  That I would have no debt and be well able to care for myself.  So, mission accomplished, my love.  Myself, I would prefer to have you.  

It’s taken me 8 long, aching months to get to the point where I can go forward.  I put up walls and kept a stiff upper lip so that my sons would think I was ok and they could get on with processing their own grief.  I kept people at arm’s length because it was just easier.  Getting through all of those “firsts” was so excruciatingly painful that I was sure I wouldn’t survive.  But survive I have – just barely and I know there are more firsts to come.  Grief is a sneaky bastard.  Just when you think you’ve moved past the fresh, raw feelings that dissolve you to a pile of gelatinous protoplasm, it taps you on the shoulder, says “made you look,” and smashes a pie in your face.  This will not be a story limited to the grief experience.  There are plenty of writings on that subject.  As Kǖbler-Ross wrote; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  Rinse and repeat.  We all know that. No one can tell you how to feel.  Granted, that’s an important part of my story, but that is not the end.  A widow is not who I am – it’s my legal status.  This is about lifting my head, looking up and out.  Is it completely crazy to give up a well-established career and follow my heart?  Maybe.  But I am finished with being that person who does what is expected of her.  Those people can kiss my ass.  If they can catch it…

So, that's the gift.  Independence.  Freedom.  Choices.  The question is, "now what?"