ď Youíll feel better in a coupla weeks.Ē she said.
I know she thought she was right; she meant to console, but how can that be? Surely she doesnít think Bob will come back home in two weeks. From someone in the comforterís line it was such a glib statement and it seems to have a life of its own. I havenít heard anything else since she said it. My mind is as blurry as my eyes. I donít believe Iíve ever cried so much. The only thing worse than this funeral is whatís going to follow it.
It felt like Bob was still with me as long as I could see him in the casket, but that dropping lid told me it was for the last time. Iím in here, in my body, and thereís nobody in here with me. Why do I feel so numb?
Iím on my own.
Bobís last paycheck is in my purse. That money is all I have but I want to hold on to the check because itís his last work. His boss has been so kind. He seems to be grieving along with me. I really appreciate the consolation he has given me.
He relieveth the fatherless and the widow. Psalm 149:9 KJV
All of a sudden Iím thinking of the news footages of wailing widows in foreign lands. I wish I could do that. Our western culture forces widows to endure in silence so that the throng sitting behind us wonít be unduly disturbed. I donít care what the throng behind me thinks; Iím wailing inside; real loud!
My mind is wandering. I havenít heard a word the minister has said.
Iíve been in the cemetery before, but at somebody elseís funeral. The fake grass under my feet and the flimsy folding chair under my behind is supposed to represent a place of honor, but this doesnít feel like an honor. It feels like my own funeral. Iím looking at the box holding my husband hovering over a deep hole and I know he will be gone forever in a few short minutes. I know heís in Heaven, but Iím still here.
Leaving this cemetery is the hardest walking Iíve ever done. My heels are sinking into the soft earth as if they want to cling to it. After my son drives me to the church for the funeral dinner, heíll take me home and then heíll drive away. Heíll leave me alone. Iíll be in my house alone, not our house.
Social Security says Iím too young to draw a check, so Iíll have to look for a job right away. The little bit of life insurance we have, or rather, I have, will only last a short while. Itís odd that what sounds like a sufficient amount becomes insufficient when the permanence of death comes home. Iíll have to use it wisely.
A Father of the fatherless and a judge of the widows is God in His holy habitation. Psalm 68:5 KJV
Itís been three weeks today and itís not better. Instead, I want to die. This morning I woke up crying and all the numbness was gone. Reality came to live with me during the night and I donít like it at all. I want to go to the cemetery and lay down on Bobís grave like a faithful dog and let myself starve to death. I hope something happens today that gives me the will to live. When I look in the mirror, I look normal. Nobody can tell just by looking at me that Iím hurting so bad.
Iím not going to church this Sunday.
I thought I had friends there, but a few of the ladies act like I might be after their husbands. No good can come of being a fifth wheel in mixed company; and I havenít seen or heard much from them anyway since Bob died. I guess they truly do believe you get over widowhood in two weeks. You have to be widowed to know how long it really lasts.
Thank God, they donít understand.
Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction and to keep himself unspotted from the world.. James 1:27 KJV
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