Don’t Call me a Widow – Part 69-

This day 55 years ago

Who could have imagined that the young bride I was 55 years ago would travel such a winding road — through joy, detours, and even divorce — to arrive at the woman I am today.

For a long time, I blamed my first husband for the struggles that led to our divorce. But time has a way of softening edges and widening perspective. As I’ve grown, learned, and allowed myself to forgive — including forgiving myself — I see that chapter differently now. I’m grateful for what it taught me, for the education it gave me in resilience, and for the healing that followed.

I also believe those experiences were necessary for me to become the woman I am. For much of my early life, I wasn’t confident in my choices. I listened to everyone else’s voices before my own. Meeting Richard changed that. Loving him helped me learn to trust my instincts, to rebel a little, and to choose based on my own heart rather than others’ expectations.

Perhaps that’s why, almost seven months into widowhood — a word I still resist — I am coping as well as I am. I still see myself as Rich’s wife, partner, and best friend. I still seek his quiet guidance as I step into my future. I don’t know how many steps I have left, but if my son is right, I may have another twenty years to keep walking.

Even with my recent accident and broken ribs, today feels brighter than yesterday, and tomorrow brighter still. I’ve been on my own this past week, managing what needs to be managed, even returning to the shower with new safety measures in place. This coming week brings medical appointments and social engagements, and I’m genuinely excited to take those next steps. My independence may be temporarily compromised, but I’m learning how to navigate around it.

At 21, I was naïve and vulnerable, marrying the man I believed was my dream. Now, at 76, I understand how dreams evolve as we evolve. I am not the same woman I was then, and he is not the same man. Today, I see him as a gift — someone who gave me our wonderful son and, indirectly, the path that led me to my true love. I’m proud of the life he has built with his wife of 42 years and their children.

What I hope you take from this is that grief comes in many forms. It is not one‑dimensional. Grief is the natural response to loss — any loss. It can be the loss of a person, of health, of identity, of stability, of youth. When grief arrives, we each choose how we move through it. Some seek professional help. Some turn inward. Some do nothing and sink deeper. It is not for others to tell us how to grieve, only to support us as we do. Grief never disappears, but it does change.

For a while, I wondered if something was wrong with me. I haven’t cried or raged. I’ve simply kept walking forward — perhaps too quickly at first. I still think I’m in a bit of shock, and maybe this quiet forward motion is my way of coping.

What many don’t know is that 2025 was a year of upheaval for our family. Three days before Christmas 2024, Rich lost his full‑time IT job — work he enjoyed, work that gave him purpose. Losing it just before his 74th birthday was devastating. Then, on Christmas Eve, I slipped in our hallway and broke my shoulder, requiring surgery and weeks of recovery.

Meanwhile, Alex was searching for a more secure job and eventually made a move that, while good for him, was difficult for us during that period. Just as he settled in, Rich was offered a work assignment in Columbus — two hours away — adding financial strain we weren’t prepared for.

And layered on top of all this was Rich’s struggle with incontinence caused by prostate radiation. A procedure in August 2025 was meant to help but instead brought emotional distress. He tried so hard to push through, but it was clear to both Alex and me that these challenges weighed heavily on him. None of this caused his death, but it certainly affected his quality of life.

Looking back over these 55 years, I can say without hesitation that I have been loved and lucky — especially since meeting Rich 44 years ago. The last year and a half tested us, but we walked through it together. Since January, I’ve chosen to appreciate my life — past, present, and future — and to take one step forward each day.

A choice is more than a decision. It is an act of self‑direction. When I choose, I influence what happens next. I declare my intention to live.

My choices allow me to reset, to create turning points, to let go of what no longer serves me. I am not letting go of memories — they are part of me — but I am releasing the negativity that sometimes clings to them.

My choices are my responsibility and my opportunity to become who I want to be. And if I’m not sure who that is, I have the freedom to explore.

My choices are my self‑care. I am the only one who can make myself happy. Others may contribute to my joy, but I am the one who must smile, laugh, and live fully.

Join me on my journey and let’s do this together at #yesican Coaching with Karen

Kh.yesican1@gmail.com