Widow's Weeds

When my husband died suddenly and without warning, the world shattered beneath my young children’s feet and I struggled to get through each day with a cold, heavy stone in the pit of my stomach.

Three times a day I sat down and forced myself to eat—even if I could only manage a mouthful. I had to stay healthy. I didn’t have the luxury of hysterics or a dramatic decline; I had bewildered and grieving children to care for.

I had to make decisions and hope that they were the right ones. I had to travel through the legalities of my husband dying without leaving a will. I had to buy groceries and go to the bank. I had to go back to work far too soon.

I wished that we still had the ritual of wearing widow’s weeds for a year. I wished that black was a signal to the casual stranger that I was grieving and to treat me with care. I wished that I had time to sit down and mourn my loss deeply and completely. I kept asking myself if this was all. The grief I was feeling didn’t seem enough for the enormity of our loss—but then, I didn’t have time to really take it all in. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Do you know how much time is legally mandated for compassionate leave? Two days! If a family member dies, you are entitled to two days of paid leave from work. It doesn’t matter that your heart is fractured and your children are little balls of anxiety. The wheels of commerce keep turning and are far more important than your unravelling life.

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