I vividly recall sitting in the doctor’s office a few months after my husband’s death. The receptionist had just handed me to the paperwork and asked me to complete the top portion.

There were questions about number of pregnancies, alcohol consumption and whether or not I felt safe at home. As my eyes scrolled down the page, there it was…a question I’d never given much thought to before: marital status.

The following choices were there:

Single
Married
Divorced

I fell into neither of those categories.

I was barely 32 with a husband who had died less than 3 months ago. Where was the box for that?

I stared at the paperwork as I had a mini-panic attack. The heaviness of my wedding bands on my fingers sure made me feel like I was still married but the loneliness in heart knew this wasn’t so.

Where was the freaking widowed box? 

Sitting in that lobby was also one of the first times I acknowledged that I was in fact widowed. My mom had referred to me as a widow when talking to someone about a month before. I stood there confused as to what she’d just called me…only to realize a few seconds later that I was very much a widow….a young one at that.

I ended up creating my own category on the form. WIDOWED. I wrote it in all caps. I wrote it to acknowledge that I had gotten married. That for all of 1 year and 6 days, I was a wife.

Whenever I fill out forms, I’m always touched to see the “widowed” box. I’m moved that the creator of the document remembered us. That he or she realized that we’ve loved and lost. That our relationship and marriage mattered. That our spouses existed.

I don’t expect sympathy from the person reviewing the form. I simply want to acknowledge the existence my marriage. How after what seemed like forever, we finally decided to take the plunge and become Mr. & Mrs. How I married my soul mate surrounded by the people we loved most in the world.

I know seeing “widowed” on forms can be a crushing blow for widows as well. I get it. In the midst of our gratefulness that someone thought enough to include “widowed”, it also forces us to acknowledge our spouses’ absence. It’s a reminder of what was and what will never be again. It reminds us that our little girl won’t have her daddy to walk her down the aisle and that our son, only a baby at the time, will grow up without hearing his father’s voice as he navigates through life.

In no way do widows have a monopoly on being on an emotional roller-coaster when it comes to checking off their status on forms. One widow pointed out that people who are divorced may wish there was no divorced box. Perhaps it felt like the constant shaming of a failed marriage to them. Also, those who are truly single may feel sadness at not having made it to the altar.

My issue however, is with people who feel the need to tell widows that we don’t need to categorize ourselves as such because in essence we’re single.

A friend once casually complained about all the different statuses on the form she was completing. “Why do you even need to put you’re widowed?” she lamented. “Aren’t you technically now single? You’re either married or you’re single”.

As someone who has been fortunate enough to not have lost a spouse, she didn’t get it. She didn’t understand that it’s not a matter of being single or married.

I’m sorry if my having a “widowed” option is frowned upon by her (or anyone for that matter) because it requires reading an extra line of text. Denying my husband’s existence for your convenience isn’t an option.

A widow in the Young, Widowed & Dating group recently shared an encounter she had:

“I was told that it’s not acceptable to call yourself a “widow”. You are single now…and the past should be left alone.”

How exactly do we leave our past alone? How do you turn your back on memories of the spouse you’ve spent more than half your life loving? How do you forget the father of your children? How do you ignore the pain that threatens to consume you at times? How do you just get over it?

You don’t!

Anyone who tells you being widowed is something to just put behind you has obviously never lost a spouse. I’ve had widows who had terrible marriages, filled with abuse and infidelity, hurt just as much as someone whose fairytale marriage was interrupted by a death. Grief is complicated. It makes no sense. It’s inconsistent. It’s brutal. It’s evolving. It’s indecisive. It has no timetable.

As one of the characters in OWN’s Queen Sugar said:

“When my wife died, I felt like I wanted to run…just pack it all up and run…literally. But you can’t outrun it. I tried. Pretty soon, I realized it was just following me because grief wasn’t done with me. It leaves when it’s done. You have to take the time to feel it all. Don’t let it chase you. Just sit with it. Listen to it. Respect it. It’s the only way to survive it.”

It’s up to you to decide if you’ll consider yourself widowed for the rest of your life, until you get re-married or when you just can’t be bothered identifying as such. Don’t allow anyone to force you into making a choice until you’re ready. It’s your decision and yours alone.

Mom to a feisty preschooler, Kerry Phillips became widowed at age 32. She runs an online support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a blogger for The Huffington Post.

Share This