FAUX PAS

            It's true, what you read in all of the advice columnists' articles, that never are people more likely to say the wrong thing than when there has been a death. My dear husband died on March 10, 2019. An acquaintance compared my loss to her divorce, saying "After all, divorce is the death of a marriage, and you should go on and marry someone else, like I did. It helps against the loneliness." I was so appalled, mortified, shocked, and offended that I was able on the spot to make no reply at all. But now, here is my reply, and take heed, any of you who might be tempted to ever commit the same faux pas (French for "false step" or misstep).

            First of all, death and divorce are worlds apart, not even remotely the same. Divorce is a human failing; death is the universe's most vicious betrayal of us. In divorce, one or both persons chooses to sever the connection. My husband and I did not choose. We did not get to make any choice. We were both victims, not perpetrators. Plus, there is stigma to divorce; there is only honor and dignity in widowhood.

            Another man? Human beings are not light-bulbs; you can't just screw another one into the socket when the old one burns out; it doesn't work that way. I will always miss Chris; I will always miss my parents, too, but I will no more move another man into my house, than I will go out and find a pair of ninety-something-year-olds and move them in. It wouldn't bring back Chris, and it would not bring back my parents. I still feel married. I am still Chris' wife. And if people had any respect for my husband, they would not want to see his widow given to another man.

            Loneliness? I miss him, but I am not lonely. I am still grieving, but I am not depressed. And I am certainly not bored. I have thrown myself back into my hobbies that I had neglected for all of the years that we had been married. I am reveling in playing my beloved CDs again (He didn't like most of them). I am delighting in watching my wonderful DVDs again (He preferred that we stream comparative junk). And I am re-reading all of my favorite authors again, some of whom I have not read since I was a teenager.

            I will admit that, for the first few months, I panicked. I thought, "How am I ever going to run this house alone?" It turns out that the answer to that question is, Very well. I am running it very well, just as I did before we were married.

            My best friend of forty years says that she is thrilled to see that I am back to being me. I have found myself again, the real me. She had felt that I had been subsumed by the marriage. Maybe so. I will never stop being sorry that he is gone, but there is good to be found in rediscovering who I really am.

            As I look back on my life, I can divide it into three eras, with a few years' gap in between each two. The three eras were: student era, teacher era, and wife era. Thankfully, none of the three of them overlapped. The three eras had much in common: each consisted of turmoil, chaos, and melodrama. The gaps consisted of: five years of idyllic perfection before being a student, two years of relief between student and teacher, and five years of retirement between teacher and wife. The gaps were invariably the opposite of the eras in character: in them, I exchanged turmoil for tranquility, chaos for calm, and melodrama for just plain mellow. In other words the gaps represented peace. And that is what I want now: peace. I've done the marriage bit; I no more need to be a wife again, than I need to be a teacher again. I'm in the final stage of life: widowhood. And I hope for it to be the epitome of peace.