I used to watch old movies and ponder how cruel it was to
force a widow to wear black for a set amount of time. I’ve always loved color.
Vibrant colors, full of life and contrast, seem the best way to celebrate the wondrous
variety God created our eyes to see. I watched Gone With the Wind as a teen and cheered when Scarlet dared to
dance in her despised black gown, forced upon her by societal conventions.
Now that I’m a widow, I’m not so sure.
When I walk in public I sometimes wish there was a way to
let people know without having to tell them. The times when I meet new people
and find myself using the past tense verbs to describe my husband or talk how
my kids’ dad “used” to do this or that. It isn’t long before I must bring it up
and explain. Again.
And sometimes I’m glad for anonymity. Blending in with the
crowds around me feels like wearing an invisibility cloak from Harry Potter. I’m
used to being noticed. I’ve been a pastor’s wife, watched by the congregations
we served for years. I’m a radio DJ, though that one still surprises me when
people recognize me for it. I’m a center-stage person, often acting or speaking
up front. But now being anonymous is sometimes welcome.
On the other hand, sometimes it’s exhausting. Like trying to
chat with a nice lady at the new youth group my kids are visiting this past
week. She was trying to plug the benefits of this church, to get a feel for
where I was at. Was I new to the church
or to God in general? You could see these questions in her eyes, hear the
conversation feelers anyone who has been in church for very long recognizes. I
felt weary having to tell her my husband was
a pastor. We’re visiting this church because he died and attending the one he
was so vibrantly a part of was just too hard.
This brings me back to wishing for widow’s wardrobes of
decades gone by. It’s almost laughable to picture myself in the black veil and
head-to-toe sheathing of the Victorian era. Any of my friends would tell you
sack cloth and ashes do not become the vibrant personality God gave me. (Though
I do really look good in black.) But shouldn’t we have some sort of way to tell
people, “Hey, cut this person a little slack. They are grieving. Don’t ask too
many questions but be kind”? I noticed this Christmas while watching It’s a Wonderful Life with my kids that
Jimmy Stewart wore a black arm band when his father died. When did we do away
with those?
I’m not even sure what to do with my wedding band, to be
quite honest. It feels wrong off and it feels wrong on. I’ve worn that thing
for over 20 years and never had it slip off until two months ago when the
weather was cold and for a panicked 10 minutes I could not find it in church. I’ve
lived in arctic North Dakota and never lost it. Somehow it’s like it doesn’t
want to be there anymore, but without it my hand feels amiss.
I googled “how long to wear a wedding band after spouse’s
death.” We do live in the Google age with an answer to anything easily at our
fingertips. One response said it was a personal decision but a year was often
the ball park. It’s been four and a half months. My sister agreed it was too
soon to feel I should take it off, though she didn’t imply I couldn’t. I vacillate
on what to do with that ring.
For now I’ll keep wrestling with my wedding ring, keeping it
tucked safely away if it’s so cold it slides off my finger. I will wear it when
I’m out of the house until it doesn’t bother me not to anymore. I don’t know if
that will be a good thing or a bad thing.
Perhaps I’ll try to come up with some type of grief wear. I
sew, though not usually clothing. Maybe I could bring back that Jimmy Stewart
arm band. I could make a little pocket in it for cards that the bereaved could
carry stating, “I’m still working through the death of someone in my life.
Please be patient and give me some grace.” They might look like a rolled up pack of ‘cigs
in a t-shirt worn by a street tough in Grease.
I could sell them on Etsy. Stranger things have shown up there. But that’s a
whole ‘nother blog.
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