Do you know how many times I’ve blurted, “My husband passed away/died” out? Me either. I know it’s been a lot though.
It’s almost like I require everyone to know that. Perhaps it’s been a warning. Perhaps I’m trying to keep him alive but he’s not and so I have to say he passed away. Perhaps I just want his existence known.
It’s not for pity or condolences, because I actually hate that part. I do like him to be acknowledged though and saying, “My husband blah blah blah” is false because he’s not here anymore.

I’ve become so immune to that sentence now that I forget how big of a deal it is to hear something like that. I see their faces fall and hear them mutter sorry while they try to search for the words to fill in the next space. Then I feel terrible. But yet I don’t stop it.

In the beginning, I think it was because I was so upset that the world just went on. It felt like no one noticed that the world was now wonky, that it was duller, more quiet, more boring and less whole. I wanted them to know that they were missing out, that life would never be the same for anyone.
As time went on, it was an explanation as to why I wasn’t functioning. Why I’d cry standing there, in a seemingly non-emotional life task with red wet eyes or why a song playing in a service station reduced me to tears.
During my anger phase, it was because I couldn’t deal with the fact that they just had this perfect existence (I know right, irrational, I’ve already told you this) and they were just merrily plodding along selfishly enjoying their lives not acknowledging the giant hole in this now broken world. How dare they!

More recently, on a trip to Bali with my kids, it was a way of explaining why I was just a woman with her kids in Bali. No husband.
Of course, it doesn’t help that I still wear my rings. They’re so beautiful I don’t want to take them off – but that’s a whole other post.
In Bali, the idea that a woman would travel with her children and not have a husband was unfathomable to them.
I was asked constantly, “Where your husband?” to which I would respond that he had passed. They were obsessed with the idea that a lone adult female was there, without her partner. And with children. I mean really, where the hell is your husband lady, you can’t be doing these things alone.

Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers came on at my local pub the other day when I was there for lunch. Started as I walked in the door. I was chatting about it with Besty and we asked the bar girl how many songs they’ve got on the loop playing daily. Thousands apparently.
I could have left it at that but instead I told her, “My husband passed away and this song was played as he was carried into the chapel.”
That’s true, but really.. I didn’t have to tell her that. Now she was going to go away thinking about that. I worry about that sometimes. I actually don’t like to make people feel like shit, so why do I do this?

I can’t be the only one that does this. This must be a fairly common widow/er trait. We had a partner and now we don’t but not by choice. It’s weird. Someone loved us, we are part of a couple but we’re now the only one remaining from that partnership.
Surely there has to be a time when I stop doing that but it’s almost like I can’t help it sometimes.
Prior to losing my beloved, I would have been perplexed as to why someone feels compelled to do that but now I am one, it just happens. No thought, no rhyme or reason, it just happens.
I hope it stops soon because it gives me the shits, I can only imagine how the people who I’m with at the time feel.