Don’t Call Me a Widow  – Part 62 –

Another Sunny Sunday

If this is your first time reading one of my posts, please call me Karen.

Although the title widow is legally mine, I don’t like using it. Even today, the word carries outdated assumptions—widows are seen as threats to couples or as somehow “less than” because they now stand alone. It’s astonishing how quickly society can make a solo person feel so low.

Why are we so insecure about the idea that a single woman or man might spend time with a married couple? Why do we assume temptation is lurking? I don’t believe for a moment that if any of my married friends invited me for coffee, dinner, or a game of cards, I’d suddenly be attracted to their husbands—or they to me. Yet the moment you shift from two to one, you’re often nudged out of the couples’ circle and left to rebuild a new one from scratch.

If you doubt this, scroll through social media. The theme is everywhere. When we first lose our partner, people surround us with support. But soon, they drift back to their routines, leaving us stranded. We’re grieving the loss of our love, and then—on top of that—we’re more alone than ever because others choose not to include us.

Widowers often have an easier time. A man with resources is quickly surrounded by single women, divorcees, and widows eager to care for him. But after 42 years of a good marriage, I have no desire to take care of anyone except myself.

One of the greatest losses we experience is the loss of touch. A new friend told me she gets regular manicures—not for the polish, but for the human contact. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Now I understand how profound that need is.

I have two sons, and they hug differently. One is loving; the other is loving and comforting. I look forward to both—not just because they’re my boys, but because those hugs remind me I’m still human.

I grew up in a family of huggers. My first husband’s family wasn’t affectionate, and I lost some of that spontaneity. But Richard was a hugger—a gentle toucher. Even on my gloomiest days, he reached for me, reminding me I was seen, safe, and loved. When you become a solo act, you miss what seems like a “little” thing, but it’s not little at all.

I was never one to use lotions or creams, but now I find myself applying them to my hands, feet, arms, and legs—offering myself the gentleness of touch. I’m learning it’s OK to be me. Now I want others to accept me as me.

Making new friends is wonderful. Connecting with like‑minded people is healing. But being widowed shouldn’t exclude me from couples. Friendship is a bond between individuals, and even within a couple, each person is still an individual. Friendship is emotional support and honesty—not intimacy. We’ve allowed fear and misunderstanding to distort our relationships after someone loses a spouse.

We’ve built our circles around couples, but the younger generation is wiser. Their social lives are group‑based, inclusive, fluid. It’s time we revisit the circle.

As Karen—widow or not—I’m choosing to create human contact every day.

• Take a walk and say hello to the people you pass.
• Chat with the cashier at the grocery or drug store.
• Call a friend or family member.
• If you work outside the home, talk with your co‑workers—they may be lonely too.
• Join a gym or community center and find an activity that feels good.
• Volunteer and create structure in your day.
• Arrange a social meet‑up at a local coffee shop and meet new people.
• Take the first step—invite a couple to join you for a meal. Show them you’re not a threat; you’re a friend.

It may not seem fair that, while grieving, we also have to rebuild our lives. A wise teacher once told me that life isn’t fair—and he was right. He also told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and stop focusing on what I thought I didn’t have, because I could create what I needed.

It’s my choice how I live the rest of my days. And I choose connection.

My Way – Frank Sinatra

And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way

Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way

Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way

Please join me on my journey.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen
Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com