<![CDATA[One Crafty Widow

<![CDATA[One Crafty Widow - Widow Life]]>Sun, 17 May 2026 20:16:09 -0500Weebly<![CDATA[A Widow's Relationship with New Year's Day - It's Complicated]]>Thu, 05 Feb 2026 16:00:52 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/a-widows-relationship-with-new-years-day-its-complicatedIt’s 2014.
Days keep passing.
Things are trying to normalize.
I’ve even thought how ready I am to get the Christmas tree down and get my house back to ...
Back to what?

This is part of a journal entry from Jan 2, 2014, only 40 days after Rod’s death. It was surreal, like I was on a roller coaster having no control of anything as it sped me from this steep drop to the next hairpin turn.

My journal entry goes on to say how things will seem to go back to the way they were before:

Our daughter will go back to college and I’ll go back to work.
I’ll shop, cook and eat, do laundry and clean toilets.
I’ll watch our shows.
I’ll (eventually) sleep in our bed again.

Things will seem the same, but they will be very different.

This ‘different sameness’ set me on a tenuous relationship with Time in general, and New Year’s Day in particular; it became the face of Time for me.

And this is what I had to say to it as 2015 arrived:

So it’s the first of the month. We have 12 of them every year. Get over it.
Bah Humbug.

Time is cruel, uncompassionate.
It just keeps ticking, moving on, second by second, rhythmic, unchanging.
It doesn’t slow down. Can it just give me a minute?
No. It takes minutes.
Days.
Years.
Uncaring.
Unyielding.
Uninterested.

Time was like a steam-roller, continuing to push me farther and farther away from life as I knew it, bullying me into yet another year that Rod would never see.

Twenty-sixteen shows up on the doorstep right on cue (and like a bad penny) to announce once again that Rod’s still gone.

Why is January 1st a better (or worse) time to pursue new opportunities than the 1st of any other month? Or any day of any other month, for that matter?
If I need to make a change, can’t I just do it now? What is it about January 1 that makes it a more appropriate time to make changes than any other day?
If I need to make a change in my life or my habits, why must I wait until Jan 1?
And is Feb 1 too late? What about July 17? And if I’m not ready until July 17, does that mean I have to wait until Jan 1?
It’s just a day on the calendar, people. Stop telling me what I need to do - or not do - starting tomorrow!
Bah. Humbug.

But then I had a thought … what if this cruel task-master is trying to move me closer to our spiritual reunion rather than pushing me away from his physical presence? Hmm ….

Time seemed indifferent as it showed up wearing its 2017 sash.

Or perhaps I had become indifferent to Time.

Perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away.

Apparently that strategy worked as I have no further journal entries about or on New Year’s Day. None

Enter 2020.

I am not only a life-long journaler, but I love calendars. Not the electronic kind, either, but the spiral bound planners (so I can keep a pen or pencil with it at all times) with the whole month on a two-page spread followed by weekly pages for notes and to record details of each day. I kept some sort of calendar even while Time and I didn’t see eye to eye, but it was strictly utilitarian at that point.

I got my plain utilitarian calendar for 2020, but then decided that it could stand to have some Happy infused into it. So I got out my stickers and colored paper (from scrapbooking years ago), and I went to town. I even bought a special sticker for no other reason than to dress up that hot pink cover.

As I created a magical portal, open to all the opportunities 2020 might hold (ironic, I know), I wondered how I got here. To be honest, I really don’t have an answer. But I went with it.

Twenty twenty-one arrived quietly, partially because of the pandemic we are still in, but also because 1st of January has become another day for me. Aside from our annual family brunch (which we sadly missed this year) and a new calendar, it’s just a regular day.

But it’s in the regular days where life is lived, isn’t it?
Tomorrow is not promised, but we have today.
Choose love today.
Choose kindness today.
Choose forgiveness today.
Find joy today.
Be grateful today.
Be present today.

Happy New Day.

(Reposted from an earlier blog of mine, originally posted in 2021)

]]><![CDATA[Impossible Questions, Part III]]>Tue, 13 Jan 2026 23:31:59 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/january-13th-2026

"What do you do for a living?"

I suppose this is not a hard question for someone who has a career (or even a job), or who actively fulfills some particular purpose or role in life.

Image by Alexa from Pixabay

It wasn’t a hard question for me before Rod died because I had an answer: I worked part-time for a missions organization. When I wasn't there, I was a stay-at-home mom, homeschooling my kids, and I was a wife. I was fulfilling my life’s role and passion - I knew the worth of what I did, and the value I held as a participant in fulfilling them.

Now all I hear is What do you produce, or how do you contribute to society? And because our society in general puts a high value on productivity, I hear this as a question about my worth and as a human being in this world.

And I got nothin’.

A person's occupation is typically the means to - and an indication of - their productivity. I don’t have a career, or even a job (as ‘job’ is typically defined for our society). The implication is, then, without a job, I am not productive; if I am not producing or contributing to society, then I am a drain on it.

Luckily, I’m of the age that I can reasonably say I’m retired, but I’m not sure exactly what I am retired from - a part-time data entry job that I haven’t held in over a decade? But even saying I’m retired comes with its own cultural expectations, and to be honest, those expectations aren’t very high. Retirees aren’t expected to be producers; in fact, they are often considered a drain on resources.

So where does that leave me?

Feeling defeated and deflated, that's where. This question calls my attention to my unimportance and insignificance as a person in our society.

Wow. It’s no wonder I dread this question! So what are my options when this question is hurled at me?

First, I will choose not to accept society’s measuring stick when determining my worth. It’s taken me some time, but I’ve learned that my value is not wrapped up in what I do - for a living or otherwise. Even if no one else sees it.

Second, I’ll consider how I might reframe the question …

What am I doing today that is meaningful to me?

]]><![CDATA[Impossible Questions, Part II]]>Sat, 09 Jul 2022 20:50:29 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/impossible-questions-part-ii

With a houseful of out of town family and friends here for the services, people were taking care of me, and one another as we all shared our grief together.

If we were running low on breakfast foods, someone just went out and got it. If something needed to be done at the house or for the upcoming service, someone just did it.

No one asked what I needed; they were there and they just saw what was needed and did it.

Image by Dimitri Wittmann from Pixabay

Eventually everyone got back to their lives. Then instead of hearing “I’m going to the store; can I pick up some bread and toilet paper for you?” or “What day can we get together for lunch this week?” or “When can I come do laundry for you?” they necessarily started asking what became my second least favorite question:

“What do you need?”

A single answer raged in my mind when I heard this question: Are you freaking kidding me? I need my husband. Think you can help me with that? I didn’t think so. You can go back to yours now. Thanks. I realize that this knee-jerk response is neither nice nor warranted as this question was usually asked by someone who truly did care - and would do anything, including bring Rod back if it were within their power to do so - coupled with a genuine desire to help and not knowing how.

Despite my silent mental outburst, I am genuinely grateful that I had people close enough to me who cared enough to stop and ask. Their very presence meant more to me than words.

You would think the best person to ask what they need is the person who you intend to help. But we’re a strange bunch, us husbandless women (because we hate the “W” word), and we are the last ones to know what we need. Well, at least the needs that another person, other than our person, could meet.

Most of the needs I was aware of in those early stages were up in my head and at the core of my being. I was overwhelmed by simply existing, and just trying to keep my crap together. I was not paying much attention to things like whether or not I had enough shampoo or clean clothes. I just dealt with those things when they become problems; there was no anticipating, no planning, no getting ahead of the game at that point. Forget getting ahead, I was pretty much living behind the eight ball as far as these things go for a while.

From my current vantage point, almost nine years out, I see that what I needed was for people to pay attention to things I did not have the capacity to pay attention to.

If you wonder if your widow friend has food in the house, pick up a few extra things next time you go to the store and drop them off for her. It doesn’t really matter what it is - if you’re friends and you’re buying it for your family, chances are good that she'd need it, too. Or make a little extra of whatever you’re making for your family for dinner and freeze some for her. Once you have a few single serve dishes, bring them over. Frozen meals are a god-send. It’s harder than you know to cook for one. Or at all. Or just show up with a pizza or chinese food and share a meal with her. (If we’re still under pandemic constraints, order take out for her, call or text her to let her know it’s coming, and maybe spend a few minutes visiting with her virtually until it arrives.)

If you wonder if she could use some help around the house, tell her you’re coming over this weekend to do yard work or after work on Thursday to help with laundry. Don’t ask her if she’d like you to come over; given the option she’ll probably say no because she doesn’t want to inconvenience you (she might be a little embarrassed by how far she's let things go). While you’re there, look around. If you see something that you’d take care of at your house, you might say “I’d like to empty your dishwasher or sweep the kitchen floor, if that’s ok with you.” It's much easier for her to process this type of specific request, and, since you’re already there, she’ll know you won’t be further inconvenienced by that extra thing.

If there’s a new movie coming out that you are going to see, ask her to come along. If there’s a church or community event you are attending, see if she’d like to ride with you. There may be some things that she’d like to do, but won’t do alone. And she probably won’t ask you because she understands that your schedule doesn’t revolve around her, and that you already have someone to go with.

What I needed was for people to let me know that they’d noticed something (this told me I was seen) and a specific way they wanted to help (this let me know that I was worth their time).

What I needed was presence and patience. I was as lost in answering this question as my people were in asking it, but I am forever grateful for those who stayed with me and continued to ask.

]]><![CDATA[Impossible Questions, Part I]]>Sat, 09 Jul 2022 20:42:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/impossible-questions-part-i

We know how the customary greeting goes:

"How are you doing?"
"Fine, thanks. And you?"
"Doing great, thanks!"

We just follow the script, hardly noticing that there is even a question being asked.

Until we lose our partner.

The first week or so following Rod’s death, I was surrounded by family and friends. We told stories, we laughed and cried; we were all grieving together and supporting one another. No one had to ask how I was because they were there - they just knew.

It wasn’t long before traveling family and friends went home, and I left the country (only a week after his service) on a trip we were supposed to go on together. By the time I got back, it was only 10 days til Christmas, and my local friends were in full holiday swing.

The holidays came and went, and a new year was ushered in. People got back to their lives and their routines. They no longer 'just knew' how I was doing, so they simply started to ask, “How are you?”

Before I go any further, I want to say that I totally understand that I am not the center of anyone else’s world, and it's not anyone else's responsibility to take care of me. Many folks did check in on me fairly regularly at first, and several continued to stay in my world beyond that. I wouldn’t have made it without them, and I am filled with gratitude for their love and efforts to care for me in those early weeks and months.

But I gotta tell ya … “How are you doing?” was the question from hell in those early days and months.

Here’s what went through my head in that awkward silence between its asking and my responding:

First, there was the sarcastic answer: “My husband’s dead. How do you think I’m doing?” Of course, this response was never vocalized because it was not deserved (and, well, it was just rude). I realized that the person asking was coming from a place of genuine concern, and had no clue how else to start a conversation or gage how said conversation might proceed.

Next came a whole slew of questions of my own … all in my head.

Do you mean how am I doing … emotionally, in my grieving process?
Are you looking for a report of my grief to see how I'm coming along? Is there some standard you will measure my answer up against to determine whether or not you should be worried about me? What will you do if my answer isn't 'right'? Well, I’m still grieving. Does that help?

Do you mean how am I doing … physically; like if I’m sleeping well (or at all) or eating (at all)?
Well, I’m dressed. I don’t hear my tummy growling, so I must have eaten something recently. And I’m standing here, listening to you ask me *that* question. So you could say I’m functioning. How well I’m functioning - how I am managing the getting dressed and showing up parts - is a different question altogether. Is that the one you were asking - how am I functioning?

Do you mean how am I doing … financially?
Since it is socially impolite to ask anyone about their money situation even in the best of times, I can probably conclude that this is not the question they had in mind. But if you were genuinely concerned about my financial well-being, seeing as how my main source of income has suddenly stopped, I’m sure I’d have a story to tell.

Do you mean how am I doing … practically, as in the day to day operations of running a home? Hmm … this one could take a minute. You see, I’m no longer in the habit of assessing my surroundings - home maintenance or supplies, oil change on my car, etc. I’m just trying to remember to brush my teeth and feed the dog, so I’m not sure I even have an answer to this particular question.

By this time, the awkward silence and blank stare had become uncomfortable, so I had to decide which interpretation of this question I was going to answer.

So began another rabbit trail in my head.

What’s my relationship with the asker? How long have we known each other? Are we the backdoor/pajamas kind of friends, or do we have polite exchanges at weekly events or other social gatherings?

What is our current venue? Are we having lunch so we have time to explore a real answer, or at least figure out which question you are actually asking? Or is it after church when we’ve all got 15 minutes after the service to get the kids and talk to everyone we haven’t seen in a week?

What’s my emotional state right now? Are my emotions just under the surface, looking for an excuse to burst out of my face, or am I having a more stable day ... or moment?

Yeah, it was that complicated. And usually ended with

“I’m fine, thanks.”

]]><![CDATA[What If ...]]>Sat, 24 Jul 2021 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/what-if

In his book, Socrates Cafe, Christopher Phillips writes, “Whenever I first philosophize with a group of kids, I bring a glass half filled with water. And I ask the kids, ‘Is the glass half empty or half full?’ The last time I did this with a group of kids ... they argued among themselves that the glass has to be one or the other, either empty or full. They never considered other possibilities.”

Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? I mean, what other possibilities are there?

In our world of duality, a thing is either this or it is that - half empty or half full. It can’t be both, and it can’t be what it is not, right? So the only reasonable response to have about a thing is deciding which side you’re going to be on, and then proving (or defending) why yours is the ‘right’ side.

The question itself assumes that it is 'this' or it is 'that,' and so we automatically choose from the two options presented what we believe it to be.

I spent so much of my life processing life’s questions with this dualist thinking (though it would seem that only the ‘better’ option was presented to me):

What college was I going to?
Was I going to get married after college, or quit college if I found the right guy?
When were we going to start a family?
Have we bought our own home yet?
What do we do for a living?

Can you ‘hear’ the other (or wrong) options implied here? Can you see the assumptions being made in these questions - the line being drawn in the sand?

And yet I picked a side, took a direction, believing the options presented to me were the only options available to me, pursuing the implied better option.

Back to the half filled glass of water, Christopher Phillips later shares his experience with a different group of kids.

One student said, “It’s half empty and half full. … It’s half full of water and half empty of water.’”

Another student said, “It’s half empty and half empty! It’s half empty of air and half empty of water.”

Still another student said, “It’s completely full. It’s full of water and air molecules.”

Yet another spoke up. “But it’s completely empty too ... It’s empty of everything but water and air.”

These kids came up with all sorts of possibilities other than the two options presented to them. In light of their answers, the idea of having to choose between only two options suddenly seems restrictive. Limiting.

Y’all, reading this in his book made me cry. I’m not even sure why. But it feels like relief, like taking in a big breath of air. It feels like it's full of color and flourish, and of possibility. Full of freedom.

When presented with the statement that 2 + 2 = 4, Rod was skeptical.

I know, right?! Everyone knows 2 + 2 = 4! There’s nothing to debate here - it’s a cold, hard fact that can be proven mathematically to be absolutely true every single time. If I have two cookies and you have two cookies, between us we have four cookies. Done! I win!

However, if I gave one of my kids two and a half cookies and the other two and a fourth cookies, they’d agree with their dad. While they each got two whole cookies, they’d be sure to notice that there were more than four cookies on the table!

In his skepticism, Rod would resopnd, “Yes, except for extremely high values of two.”

$Picture$

Image by padrefilar from Pixabay

Then he explained. The statement makes the assumption that each of the twos in the equation are whole numbers. In that instance, yes, 2 + 2 = 4. But 2.5 + 2.5 does not equal four, and 2.9 + 2.9 equals almost six!

Rod could see the assumptions behind the question; he could also see alternate sets of assumptions which yielded a different conclusion.

He loved to answer questions with questions, or answer specifically and exactly the question he was asked. I think he was trying to help people understand that the question they were asking was based on certain assumptions, and it might not have been the question they actually wanted answered. Or maybe he just liked to annoy people.

This is one of the secondary losses that I am just now putting words to - the loss of perspective. I’ve known for a long time that Rod had a very different perspective than I have, and I relied on that perspective to help me make decisions throughout our whole marriage.

I never thought I could see things the way he saw them. So, without him in my life, I believed his perspective was lost to me forever. And continuing to move through life without that perspective, continuing in my dualistic mindset, I felt helplessly controlled by someone else offer me only the options ‘they’ deem appropriate.

But what if he had the perspective he did because he asked questions? Because he challenged assumptions? Because he didn’t accept the status quo, or believe in absolutes? Because he believe there was an option C?

What if he just assumed there were other options, and trained his mind to look for them? What if his perspective was, at least in part, the result of a way thinking?

What if I could learn that way of thinking?

What if I become open to identifying underlying assumptions, to look beyond the questions, and to see the world as a place of unlimited possibilities?

What if …?

]]><![CDATA[So ... This Is Who I Am Now?]]>Tue, 04 May 2021 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/so-this-is-who-i-am-now

I remember receiving my first evite (since before the pandemic) to an in person event. Having not been vaccinated yet, declining was a pretty easy decision for me to make.

But by the time of the invitation, most everyone was getting back to pre-pandemic life; COVID was no longer an acceptable reason to decline. I was surprised when I felt some amount of anxiety over my decision. I don’t think I’d ever experienced this kind of anxiety before.

The reason I don’t recall experiencing social anxiety before this is because I lived according to the social expectations. I followed social norms and met all the expectations because that’s just how life was lived. I allowed the social protocols to determine my identity and to shape my behaviors.

I’d say Yes when I wanted to say No. Declining an invitation without a ‘good’ reason was rude and could cost future invitations, leaving me out in the cold. There was an unspoken pressure to be accepted by the group, even at the expense of my own preference or well-being. So I’d say Yes.

I kept my calendar full. I’d have to coordinate with friends to find the first available date for both of us just to grab a cup of coffee - one time that date was three weeks out! Our culture values productivity; if you are not producing, you do not have value. And if you don’t add value to our culture, you are a burden to it. So I stayed busy.

I stayed in my place. As a woman, especially as a Christian woman, my place was always one of subordination - to my husband, my pastor, church elders (who, in my experience, were all men), my government, my brother, my parents, the man behind the counter telling me I need my radiator flushed … So I’d stay in my place and everybody was happy.

None of these things caused me social anxiety before because I accepted that that was just life. I accepted the norms, adopted them into my being - as part of my identity- and viola! I was accepted, valued, and happy. I had no need to question or challenge any of it.

But the pandemic changed that. Actually, losing Rod got that ball rolling; the pandemic dropped it right off the cliff for me.

I actually like how I’ve been living for the past year or so. I’m one of those anomalies for whom the pandemic was more of a relief (or a reprieve) than a problem.

Having just ended a 2+ year stretch of time that had me out of the house almost daily on behalf of others, I was ready to batten down the hatches, say No to everything for a while, and just stay home.
I am self-employed, so job loss was not an issue.
I don’t have school-aged children, so school/extracurricular activities were non-existent.
I have a roomie, so I am not alone.
I found a way to get everything I needed either delivered or I pick them up curbside, so shopping was not a problem.
I gained so much tech knowledge and learned how to keep up with folks online.

But as businesses and restaurants begin to open up and things begin to go back to pre-covid norms, I am experiencing social anxiety.

During the pandemic, while social expectations were temporarily suspended and outside distractions were minimized, I spent a lot of time basically getting to know my post-loss self.

I know that sounds weird, but I changed so much after Rod died and hadn’t really had the time to figure out who this new me is. The lockdown gave me that time.

So I’ve figured out some things about who I am now, and I’ve learned something about being part of a global community.

I don’t mind crowds, but I prefer to connect with people in small groups, or one on one.
I’ve learned to really listen, and not filter everyone else’s experience through my own.
There’s more to every story than we can see, and everyone’s story has value.
Our purpose in life doesn’t have to be a single, life-long goal; it can be a series of small acts we do every day.
All of humanity is connected in ways we can’t see or even imagine.
My words, actions, even my attitudes impact not only the people I come in direct contact with, but also with those I have never met (for example, you, my dear reader).

I don’t want to go back to my pre-COVID, pre-loss self. I want to live in a way that honors these new lessons.

I want to be able to say No - without guilt, shame, or fear of rejection - to things that don’t align with this new self so that I can say Yes to people, and to opportunities, to practice those small acts that give purpose and meaning to life.

I want my busyness to be organic. I want to be able to stop and connect with a person without having to look at my watch worrying about the next thing on my schedule. I want to be available for opportunities to connect with people on short notice, because we don’t always get advanced warning of life events. I want to be able to sit with someone and listen to their story, to bear witness to their experience.

And I want to be heard. I have a story that is unique and worth telling. My story will have an impact in the world - even if it makes people uncomfortable, or unhappy - but only if I tell it.

So, there you have it. Post-loss, post-pandemic Gail will unapologetically say No, she will be free of the busyness for the sake of productivity, and she might step on some toes along the way.

]]><![CDATA[Single Woman In A Man's World]]>Thu, 15 Apr 2021 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/single-woman-in-a-mans-world

As a woman now without a man, I must figure out how to navigate the gender line if I wish to be heard.

My first real opportunity to experience what it's like to live as a single woman in a man's world was through an interaction I had with a contractor. I took the opportunity to use my voice and to exercise control over things I actually had control over, and I experienced first-hand the consequences of living into those two things.

As a woman, I am expected to behave in socially-prescribed ways, especially when interacting with a man. As long as I follow the rules - or have a man to speak Man to another man on my behalf - things go pretty smoothly.

Well, I had thoughts about the project this contractor was hired (by me, mind you) to do in my home, and the timing in which it was to be done - and they didn’t agree with his. In the current social hierarchy, I am allowed to have opinions, but I’m not allowed to voice them - especially if they appear to be an attempt to tell a man how or when he should do the things he has set out to do.

But I did. I used my voice.

It was made clear to me that I’d stepped over some invisible (and arbitrary) line when I used my words to express those thoughts.

Some of my words were brushed aside with more important words (his) being prioritized. Other of my words were shut down, not even allowed to be spoken - much less heard.

I was instead given words that played on my emotions as a woman; words intended to manipulate my feelings to see things his way. I was given words meant to shame me for asking for the things I wanted when they were so small in comparison to the needs of his other customers.

My words were verbally acknowledged, though answers came slowly and sometimes they were ignored. As a result, enough delays were created to make what should have been a week-long project into a four month ordeal.

Had I kept my mouth shut, played by the rules and let him do his thing (or had Rod been here to speak on my behalf) I’m pretty sure things would have happened differently.

I do not have power over the contractor or his schedule, or over the stores regarding product availability or shipping times, but I do have authority when it comes to my household and my time, and I decided to exercise that authority. If I'd remained silent, that would have been interpreted as me being in agreement with him, giving him power to make decisions concerning my home and my time; I chose no to give him that power.

Rather than putting my whole week on hold until he let me know when he was going to show up, I went ahead and made my plans. Rather than allowing my household routine to be upset to accommodate him, I decided my schedule was as important as his, and he’d have to work with me to determine the best time to get things done.

As my push-back began to increase, I excercised my power as a consumer to involve a third party, and to consider other options (i.e.: other contractors).

It was his response to these actions that confirmed to me that my words had indeed not been heard; I realized in that moment that if he would not respect my words, then he did not deserve to hear them.

Using my words and choosing to control what was in my power to control aren’t muscles I’ve had to flex before Rod died. If I was ever in a situation where my words were not being heard by a man, Rod would step in, say the same thing in ‘Man-speak' and viola! My words were heard through him, and whatever it was that needed to get done got done. If anyone tried to exert power over our household or our home, Rod was the one they’d have to deal with, and his refusal to acquiesce or his choice to amend would be respected. Period.

I quickly realized that choosing to behave outside of my pre-determined role had consequences. I wasn’t ready for just how difficult (and emotional) it would be. Even when I got brave enough to speak my words and make a decision based on my and my household’s highest good, I found that I was easily put back in my 'place,' seemingly unable to get past that first push of courage.

It’s like driving on a road with deep ruts. I can either focus on getting out of the ruts, or I can focus on the road. I may slip back into the ruts, but at least now I’m aware that there are ruts, and that there is higher ground on which I can travel.

When I stop focusing on the ruts, I can begin to focus on the higher ground.

When an obstacle presents itself in life, we often focus on the obstacle and how to get past it. What if we focused on the goal behind the obstacle instead? It just might turn out that the obstacle is inconsequential in light of the overall goal.

For example, if I want green beans with my dinner, but can’t find the can opener, I can focus on the can, trying to figure out other ways to open it. But what if I consider my bigger goal, which might be to eat more veggies? From there I can begin to look for frozen veggies, or use that fresh zucchini in the fridge, or make a salad; the inability to open the can of green beans is no longer an obstacle to achieving the bigger goal.

So what am I trying to achieve - what is my bigger goal? Perhaps it’s for my words to be heard and my opinions and decisions to be respected on their own merit - gender notwithstanding. In my recent interactions, a man was the obstacle. How might I speak my words so that a man - a person - is no longer an obstacle?

This is the question, and an opportunity for future growth. As I focus on the higher ground, I can begin to look for other ways to achieve my goal. I am beginning to see that it’s worth - that I’m worth - the trouble my efforts will bring. Even though I'll be doing it scared.

]]><![CDATA[Cupid Can Keep His Arrows]]>Sun, 07 Feb 2021 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/cupid-can-keep-his-arrows

Life is full of storms, both in the weather and in heart They blow in, affecting everyone in their paths, and are no respecter of persons - or emotions.

And, friends, there’s a big one blowing in this week. And right out in front, winging himself ahead of the billowing storm clouds of emotions, is Cupid himself, arrows loaded and ready to fly.

So what are you going to do this week with this emotional storm looming? You may not realize it, but you do have options.

You can ignore it.
You can go about your week like it’s just any other week, like Sunday is just going to miraculously fall off the calendar allowing you to escape its peril. Even if you could find a rock to crawl under on Valentines Day, you won’t escape the flower tents in grocery store parking lots the week before, or all ads that seem to be everywhere showing happy couples holding hands, looking lovingly into each other’s eyes. Pretending it’s not happening could leave you out in the cold, alone, and feeling the sting of every stupid arrow shot by that fat little self-proclaimed messenger of love. Ignoring your feelings about this (or any other) emotional storm won’t do you any good in the long run.

You can sit in anticipation.
You can tell yourself all kinds of stories about this upcoming holiday as you wait for its dreaded arrival. No one will send you flowers. There won’t be a special card and box of chocolates waiting for you when you get home. Everyone else in the world has their Valentine except for you. And you’ll have to cook. And whatever other story you’re telling yourself right now.

Oftentimes, replaying these kinds of stories in the days leading up to the Day is more painful than the Day itself, causing you angst and heartbreak that might have been avoided. Or at least that might have been lessened with a little bit of preparation. Which leads to the third option ...

You can prepare for it. (Recomended)
It’s true you can’t control the existence of this holiday or how others will be celebrating it, but you can make a plan for yourself to help you get through it. You don’t have to sit by and let Cupid’s arrows pierce right through you, or be at the mercy of advertisers or a date on the calendar.

So how do you prepare for a day like this?

Do you know someone else who does not have anyone to celebrate them this year? Maybe you can send them flowers or drop a card in the mail.

See if you can meet a girlfriend or two for dinner or coffee (or schedule a virtual get-together, to stay safe). Stop at your favorite bistro or restaurant and get your favorite order to go - you’re so worth it. He thought you were, didn’t he?

You might decide to cook your partner's favorite meal and eat by candlelight as you remember Valentine’s Days spent with her.

Maybe you can grab a pen and paper and write out Valentine's memories of you and your sweetie, or write a letter to them. Or pull out some favorite photos and create a mini album, just for you.

You might decide to sit on your couch and watch Hallmark movies with Ben & Jerry and a box of tissues.

You don't have control of what day it is, but you do have control of you, and making a plan - any plan - is better than the alternative.

Having a plan also gives you an answer when someone inevitably asks, “What are you doing for Valentine’s day?” And having an answer for yourself can help bring healing. And it can be empowering as you prepare for future storms.

So what are you going to do this week?

]]><![CDATA[Rod's Widow]]>Sat, 30 Jan 2021 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/rods-widow

What does Widow do?

Where is her place in the world and what is her purpose?

These answers aren’t as clear cut as Wife was in our American society. The cultural norms associated with it are sparse and vague, and, like Widow herself, no one wants to talk about it.

Image by Sabine van Erp from Pixabay

Widow, best I could figure it out, Widow was a white haired elderly woman living in the same house that Wife lived in with all the furnishings and decor remaining exactly as Wife had them. She spends her days alone, going through the motions of her former life, pining for Husband and biding her time until she joins him in bliss.

Is this what I'm expected to do with the rest of my life? Is this who I am supposed to be now?!

Oh, hell, no!

If I must play the role of Widow, I will not adhere to these expectations. I will not be the ‘grieving widow’ casting a shadow over everyone and everything with my sad cloud. I reject the pitious greetings and delicate questions, and I refuse to melt away into obscurity.

As I pondered these things, I allowed myself - not culture - to decide what Widow might look like for me. If I wasn’t going to sit in a rocker and watch life go by, what was I going to do? What would Widow look like for me?

So far, here is what Widow has looked like for me:

It looks like curiosity. I went back to community college to fulfill that plan we had for me to interpret for the Deaf.
It looks like decision-making. I sold our house of 23 years and bought my own house; I traded in our car and got my own car; I traveled to another country.
It looks like creativity. I got out my 30+ year old Singer Touch-N-Sew to make gifts from Rod’s jeans for the kids and grands; I kept sewing and opened an Etsy shop.
It looks like productivity. After reading stories of fellow widows, I realized I had something to share in a book of my own.
It looks like compassion. I found that I “was uniquely qualified to minister to a whole new set of people.” Rod said this of himself not long after he was diagnosed. I am happy to have something from him that I could hang on to, that still encourages and empowers me.

Perhaps this is just what I look like now, and Widow is really just one of those bullet points.

The more things I did on my own, the more confidence I gained in myself. The tearful reality that I no longer had anyone to check in with taught me to check in with myself. In this, I was proving to myself that I actually could survive - even thrive - without Rod. Even if I didn’t like the reason.

It’s quite a process, becoming someone else. It’s hard work that involves lots of self-reflection and asking myself questions. There’s a lot of self-discovery along the way, many of these discoveries coming with their own losses for me to process.

I still haven’t figured out who I am and what I’m all about. But, little by little, I’m finding that the new me - the me after Rod - is not so bad. There are even times when I can honestly say that I like who I’m becoming. And I’m getting to be ok with that.

I may not know where I’m going, but I’m learning who I am as I go, and how to enjoy the journey.

Image by Renan Brun from Pixabay

]]><![CDATA[Not Rod's Wife Anymore]]>Wed, 20 Jan 2021 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.onecraftywidow.com/widowlife/not-rods-wife-anymore

As a little girl growing up in the 1960s, my role in life was pretty much set for me. Sure, there was room for some variation, but the cultural norms dictated that I would graduate high school, go to college, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after.

I followed the script and it suited me well; I loved being Wife. Wife was how I interfaced with my world and everyone in it. It was how I knew who I was; it defined my responsibilities in the home, my place in the world, and my purpose in life.

Over time, that role had become my whole identity. They merged into a single thing that became Rod’s Wife.

I liked Rod’s Wife, and I liked being her. She was who Rod loved, and who he built his life and future with. Rod’s Wife was protected and provided for. She felt safe, and knew she would be loved forever.

And then Rod died.

In that moment, Rod’s Wife died, too. I knew this cognitively, but I didn't experience it yet. I was not prepared to.

A few months after Rod died, a long time friend of ours told me that I’d have to figure out who Gail Bayron was apart from being Mrs. Rodney Bayron. At the time, I just wanted to slap her face right off her head. How dare she imply that I am not Rod’s Wife any more! If I’m not Rod’s Wife, then I am no one.

Rod and I were high school sweethearts and married not long after graduation; I literally moved from my parent’s house to my husband’s house. I never had the need (or opportunity) to discover who I was between being Bob’s Daughter and Rod’s Wife. Because of this, I had no point of reference to go back to, no previous identity or former life to give me context for who I was by myself. My whole life I have been someone else’s someone, so I decided I would just continue to be Rod’s Wife. I had to. It was the only way I knew to exist.

I figured I could hold on to Rod’s Wife a little longer if I could follow through on some of the plans we made together, to keep to the plans we had already set in motion.

To that end, I went on the mission trip to Israel just as we had planned, leaving just ten days after Rod died. He had been so looking forward to this trip - there was so much he wanted to see. I couldn’t not go. I had to go for him.

In our retirement years, Rod was going to have a voice-over business, and I was going to interpret for the Deaf. We would accept contracts and assignments at our leisure, choosing jobs because we wanted to, or turning them down if for no other reason than we didn’t want to.

There were other plans we had made together that I dutifully carried out as Rod’s Wife best I could, but eventually they were all completed or expired. Did this mean it was finally time to say good-bye to Rod’s Wife, and see who I would become - indeed was already becoming? It took me three years to even ask this question, to even consider the possibility that it was time to let her go.

That’s the thing about secondary losses. Each time you realize a loss or an end to something that you shared, there’s one less thing in the world that he had a part in, that reflects the life you once knew. It’s like another piece of him falls away, taking with it another little piece of your heart.

During all this time, I was avoiding my new role: Widow.

I knew this was my new designation right from the beginning, but I had put it off as long as I could. This new role didn’t make me anybody’s anything, and I didn’t know what that was like. But it was time for me to step outside of Rod’s Wife and find out.

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