For three years I've been reluctant to say I'm a widow. When I mention that word, I either get the look that says 'Keep your hands off my husband/partner' or even worse, someone tries to 'fix me up' with a friend of a friend. I'm not saying everyone is like that, but we live in a society where you aren't deemed whole unless you're part of a couple.
From the day of Butch's funeral, I met women who were sure I was chasing their husbands, and husbands who felt I needed extra comfort. What a crock of shit! The last thing I wanted to do was be with anyone else. I was only interested in my loss.  The fact that I'd lost my life partner recently didn't mean I was immediately in the market for another.
Losing someone is a bit like going through a divorce, suddenly you become a threat to other's relationships, even when you aren't interested. There were some who shunned me just in case I was on the prowl. I found this difficult to understand or cope with. I'd already lost Butch and then I lost my friendship support base....all because I was single. How does that work?
So when I met people, I talked about Butch as if he was alive, only rarely confiding the truth, when I felt it wouldn't affect their view of me, or our friendship.
What I shared with Butch can't easily be replaced and I'm simply not interested anyway. But it's been easier to keep quiet.
If you meet a psychic and they know you're a widow, you can expect to hear there is a tall dark man on the horizon.. As I'm a 'woman with attitude', I tend to tell them in no uncertain terms what I think about that.
I wear my wedding rings as protection, against guys who think I must be desperate enough to do anyone after a three year drought...or women who either want to protect their marriages or want to find me a soulmate, so I can be truly happy., because clearly I'm not in their eyes.
I'm quite happy as I am thanks. Sure I get lonely and I miss the beautiful magic of my marriage, but I miss them with Butch and I'm not prepared to settle for anything else.
Recently I went on a cruise and over the two weeks I began to admit I was a widow. Admit. Isn't that a funny way for me to put it? It's almost as if I failed somewhere along the way. If I was divorced, then both of us might have 'failed' to keep the relationship alive. But, as a sole survivor, I felt like a failure and I have yet to comprehend how or why that is. I would say it with an apologetic smile, as if it was all my fault and I should have tried harder .I admit there are times when I tell someone and they are genuinely upset for me, which would cause my eyes to well with unshed tears. I hate to cry in public, so I can't blame my 'widow word avoidance' solely on those I described earlier.
Its weird, when I went through a divorce from my first marriage, I was happy to shout it from the rooftops. I felt no shame, only empowerment. Society doesn't like to discuss grief, they don't know the right words to say, so it was easier to keep my status quiet, like a dirty secret.
I had an amazing experience while I was on the ship. I met two couples who took me under their wing. They invited me out with them, not as a gesture of sympathy, but because they didn't care I was on my own. It was truly liberating and I had such a great time being me, whether it was happy or sad, wacky or mad. They didn't make me feel like I was imposing and we had lots of fun, I will be forever grateful to them for proving to me it is possible to share space with other couples and not feel like an outsider.
About a week ago, I finally changed my status on Facebook to 'widowed'. What was I thinking? I was thinking that it was time I accepted who I am and stepped into my life, became one with it and lived my truth.
If you didn't notice, it's not a biggie. However, if you did and you decided to avoid me or throught of someone who I might be compatible with, then think again. I'm a widow....I'm not desperate and I don't want your husband or partner. I just want to be me and from now on that's exactly who I'm gonna be!
Cherie - Widow With Attitude!

I have just come back from a writers cruise. As part of the seminar, we were asked to introduce oursleves and talk about what we do. This was my intro:
Hi, my name is Cherie Nobbs. Three years ago I lost my best friend and husband, Butch. Actually, I didn't lose him, I know exactly where he is.
Before he passed, I believed grief was about missing someone or something. It never occurred to me how devastating and life changing this could be on all levels of my being.
The past three years have been a long arduous expedition into the unknown, where I've had to reconnect with myself, work out who I am now and recreate a life with joy in it. It's very much a work in progress.
The prescribed levels of grief didn't seem to apply to me. Books and information didn't tell me what I wanted to hear; that grief was hard, bluddy hard, that life wouldn't feel important anymore, that sometimes getting out of bed was an achievement all in itself.
I personally believe there's about 121 stages of grief. I visualise them as the floors of a skyscraper. Each time I move to a new level, I see a little more light entering my life. I begin to feel more comfortable with my existence as I move around and explore the new territory.
A few of the levels have mazes that can make me feel I'm going around in circles or nowhere at all.
On some, I drag my feet or pretend I can't find the lift, especially if it's too confronting, or heaven forbid, it might take me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes even when it's uncomfortable on that level, it can be hard to get past it and push the button that will take me up and out of it.
The levels have dramatically changed durinng my expedition. Originally they were empty and devoid of light. All the shared parts of me of the past 25 years had been removed after Butch passed.
Gradually I added a few personal touches like happy memories (hard to do when they had disappeared on the basement floors) and signs of gradual self-empowerment.
There have been times when I've skipped a level and it's felt right, but there's also times I've dodged a level and had to go back down. If I move too fast or cheat, I find the construction work on that level isn't complete.
Sometimes the lift jams or the cable slips. It's hard not to feel bad about that. I know I just need to reach out for the lift phone, to connect me with the lift operator, my inner self, to discover what's holding me back.
However, there are times I don't want to hear what the operator has to say, so I can remain there, stuck, for some time. There are also times I need to call for outside assistance for major repairs or adjustments. Experts can be necessary to help me raise my vitality or consciousness level. Usually I don't like asking for help and I'm stubborn (although I prefer to think of myself as an independent thinker), so I can stand there 'wallowing  in my stuff' until I change or accept I am at a standstill.
More often than not, I'm the only person in the lift. Many people find it difficult to relate to me as I grieve and they don't know how to 'fix' me.
If I'm honest, I believe I'm at 82 (only 39 levels to go!).
Although it's not the top level, the view is much better than it was at 50 or even 70. Sometimes I even recognise the progress I've made instead of dwelling on what I've yet to achieve.
I've learnt a lot about myself, not all good, but that's okay. If I've learned anything, it's that my grief expedition is unique, no one else is going through grief in exactly the same way as me. I don't need compete or be better than anyone else, I just need to be the best I can be.
Reaching the top floor doesn't mean I'm over the loss of my soulmate, it means I've reached a pthe place where I honour myself and my new life.
I may not be an expert on grief, just mine. With my book, 'Grieving With Honour', I can help others with their expeditions, by sharing the highlights and low;ights of my own experiences. I can't make it better or 'fix' it for the., I can only help others feel less isolated and share the blueprints of my skyscraper.
My next step is to plan what my life will be like when I reach the 122nd level, to move beyond the what was and focus on the what can be. Who knows? Maybe I'll take a parachute and a leap of faith to build a new skyscraper....