No, she doesn’t. I mean, does she realize that people have lives? Of course. Is she grieving not just him, but the loss of so many of their “friends” in the aftermath of his departure? YOU BETCHA! As for me? After about the first three months of “widowed, my phone stopped ringing, the texts went MIA, and my heart broke all over again in unspeakable ways. Whatever happened to that age-old adage to not forget the orphans and widows?
The widow’s life ticks out like clockwork. A thousand tears she’s cried a hundred times before. But now that he is gone, she’s ready to move on. It all just fell away – it seems like yesterday.
{“Crossing Over“}
This “being forgotten” thing IS, indeed, one of the most painful parts of our process. Our husbands die, then so does life as we knew it … up to and including our “friends”:
Unfortunately, about two months after you’ve lost your husband your friends kind of forget about it. They dropped over a lasagna or sent flowers. They may even have taken time off work to attend the funeral. They shed genuine tears for you but soon the demands of day-to-day living set in and their life returns to normal. But, not so for you! This is when you need the most support – right when most of your friends have moved on and are thinking “she will just have to get used to her new life”. Although this is true to a point, time has to pass for grief to heal and soften. Partly, it’s because they want to believe you’re feeling better, but they also feel helpless and uncomfortable, unsure how to help someone navigate their grief. After the ‘I’m so sorry’, and ‘Here’s a casserole’, people just don’t know what to say.
{“Why Do Friends Drift Away [After Your Spouse Dies]?“}
To the very few people who’ve been consistent in my atmosphere since the king went and blew his damn brains out, know that I’m beyond grateful and in a river of “happy/sad/angry” tears I write this. And while I realize I’m luckier than many other widows I’ve met on this road who’ve been all but completely abandoned by “their people”, watching my “friends” on “NOT so social for everyone media” just out there living their lives without having ever once asked if I’d like to get out of this beautiful prison that is now my life has been one of my most brutal realities.
At this point, I don’t respond to the “friends” who couldn’t find time to bother with me, yet did have the time to hit me up for their kiddo’s fundraisers, new businesses, discounted listings, and multitude of other “favors”:
Umm, no, I won’t be ordering your miracle skin care system for the super low price of $59.99 or signing up for your latest MLM, ’cause wouldja, COULDJA have thunk to invite me to your Jean Claude Van DAMN fucking barbecue, or didja think I’d have more fun all alone here in my castle watching Netflix with my dog and a buncha birds? And aren’t you that “friend” who used another agent to sell your house when you knew full WELL that …? Oh, FUCK it! Never mind! Nope, I’m NOT buying what you’re selling, and you can shove all those fireworks right the fuck up your … YOU KNOW! But, hey, have a really nice day!
Do YOU you know a widow?
Chances are that you do. So, in honor of this “International Widow’s Day“, do me a favor and just send her a text to let her know you’re thinking of her. It’ll cost you a few seconds, but be priceless to her. Invite her to coffee. Invite her to a movie. Hell, she probably won’t even go, no matter how much you insist, if she’s become a shut in like me, but it will mean the world to her to so much as be asked.
For the record, I’m sorry that I’m not sorry for this cringey rant. These “unspeakable ways” a widow’s heart often gets re-broken needed to be SPOKEN for once and all. These are the things the widow really wants “her people” to know but doesn’t say, ’cause being abandoned in her grief has kinda left her speechless.
Hi everyone! It’s me, The REAL widowed, angry, and maybe a little PSYCHO Cat Williamson … not the sugary sweet, FAKE, and BLIND one! I’m ONLY here to keep it REAL (and maybe a little awkward), and remind all “my people” that I sho ‘nough DID see all you mofos leavin’ me out of your little barbecues! I cannot stress enough to NOT be passin’ by me if you’re on fire, ’cause going forward, THIS biotch is savin’ all her pisses for those who have NOT pissed on her 1,420 days of widowhood. Also? “The First National Bank Of Holy F**K, Cat Hit The ZACKpot!” is officially CLOSED, so don’t be asking me to donate to all your kids’ races for them cures. I’d rather go SOLO to cheeseburgers dates with MYSELF sharing all the love and giving what I have away to Jean-Claude Van Damn effing STRANGERS than be the doormat people only wipe their feet on when they need something!
And now a word from our sponsor, ’cause if any song deserves a repeat performance in this dumpster fire Diary of mine that, (ps), most of “my people”, up to and including my own fucking family couldn’t so much as been bothered to support and subscribe to after the countless times I’ve asked, IT’S THIS ONE:
The Diary Of My Perfection 
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