Two years ago I began my new position as widow. A shitty title for a shitty status.
I am still me, I am fundamentally the same person that I have always been, a little scarred and sad around the edges but still me. I like to laugh, I’m not the quietest person in the room and I can’t seem to grow up properly. I love my children, grandson, dog, family and friends, not always in that order.
I have always been independent, Rickie and I had very different hobbies and interests and were comfortable doing new things one without the other, which is why we worked so well.
But, and it is a big but, it is my observation that one is viewed differently when unmarried, I know it isn’t my imagination because I have discussed it at length with fellow members of the widowhood/single women club.
Everything is different now, small minds in smaller people misunderstand my intentions; offer a handy man a cup of tea and he feels compelled to tell you he’s married just in case you have designs upon his person. Laugh with a man you’re not related to and gossip reaches you a few days later. It is debilitating to have to be someone you aren’t in order to fit nicely into a societal impression of how one should behave when in my position.
I’m not going to comply. I will still laugh when I’m happy, offer sustenance when necessary, spend time with people I love, do things I want to do and if I am judged harshly for such undignified behaviour so be it. One lost life is enough, I refuse to lose mine too, I’m OK by myself, I don’t need your pity or your judgement and I still live by my own code that I stole from the Brownies when I was seven; Think of others before yourself and do a good turn every day.
So fuck off society. My friend of the too short fringe, I, and all other widowed/divorced/single women the world over can do whatever we want, however we choose, whenever we can, provided we do no harm to another human being, after all it is 2022 not 1822.
P.S. Mama I’m getting a tattoo.