The guy at the MINI dealership.
The lady at the dry cleaners.
The girl at the jewelry store.
If someone was in front of me, I told them.
I could not say it enough.
Perhaps because I was trying to convince myself.
Perhaps because I just needed to get it off my chest.
But then there was a line in the sand somewhere.
I am not sure when I crossed it.
Now, I do not tell anyone.
I try to avoid it.
If I do not have to tell someone, I will not udder the words.
Mr. X's family does not know although I plan to tell them eventually.
The friends I have met in the last couple of months do not know.
And when it almost does come up, I get nervous.
My heart starts to race.
I want to quickly change the subject.
I was talking to my twin, Nicolle, about it and we both agree it gives people a chance to know us.
The real us.
Not the stereotype they believe it is.
Not to be afraid of us.
It gives us a chance not to have people freak out on us.
It gives us a chance not to breakdown in front of others.
The funny/weird thing is, I almost want people to read it on my facebook page when they befriend me.
I almost want to send an introductory message: "Please read my info page before further communication. I will be happy to answer any questions you may have afterwards."
I am okay with "telling" them that way.
I am okay with talking about it in person after they know.
But saying the words "My husband died" or "I am a widow" or anything along those lines, please do not make me.
Please, please do not make me.
Today I was in class sitting next to my young naive friend.
We noticed a teaching assistant had broken her foot.
We started talking about breaking bones.
And without thinking, I mentioned I had seen my arm bones when I was in the car accident last year.
She asked, "Where you scared?"
I did not mention why I was scared.
Yes, it was scary and weird and crazy to see the bones of my arm.
But that was not really why I was scared.
I was scared because my husband was unconscious and the police would not tell me anything about him.
However, I could not tell her the rest of this story.
The complete reason I was scared.
And as I sat there I was afraid of where the conversation was going to go.
I quickly stopped the conversation.
Tried to switch the subject.
And I survived another day without telling her.
It is strange to have this 180 degree turn.
To want to hide my widow-ness.
Maybe I want to deny it.
Run away from it.
Pretend it is not true anymore.
Pretend it does not apply to me.