Holiday Widow Alert: Listening to Mozart Can Make Us Fat

I'd like to think of myself as a watchdog for all widows.  In other words, people, I've got your back. 

Holiday time can be especially difficult for widows and others who have lost a loved one - no matter how long it's been.  Those sappy seasonal songs that we sing off key bring us back to a place we've tried all year to tuck away.

The old familiar ornaments we drag out and put on the tree are a sentimental reminder of holidays past, too.  We tear up at the memory of our husband slipping off the stepstool and landing on the pointsetter and then blaming us. 

I still profess he returned one of my gifts because I couldn't stop laughing.  But, hold on, this isn't about me.   

 With so many 'joyful' countdown days until Hanukah (oh, wait, that starts today) and Christmas we tend to eat extra and with greater gusto.  Aren't we entitled to 14 potato latkas?  And, it's just plain rude to say no to a homemade Santa cookie. 

Stuffing our faces is our way of saying we are doing our best to keep up the holiday spirit.  However, an article in this morning's Newsday revealed a study that may help us to look in the mirror without thinking: Pork Chop.  

Doctors ar the Tel Aviv Sourasky Medical Center measured the energy expenditure of 20 infants born preterm while listening to Mozart in their incubator.  The findings showed Mozart lowered by at least 10% the quantity of energy they used. This means the babies may have been able to increase their weight faster.

To me, this screams out: Do not listen to Mozart!  You may be in danger of gaining weight.  So, go ahead and have that fifth glass of egg nog and wash it down with a chocolate snowman.  Just be sure that when you lift your glass to make a toast the background music is low brow, like Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. (BTW: Used to think that song was funny...until I became a Grandma)

10 Stupid Things People Say to Widows About - Dating

1.  "Is he better in bed than your husband was?"  


2.    "I know it's sad that he died, but these days

      being a cougar is in!"


3.  "You're wearing that?  You're gonna have to get a

      whole new wardrobe!"


4.  "I hope this one doesn't drop dead."


5.  (from a divorcee) "At least you don't have to

     worry about running into him."


6.  "Too bad my husband is still alive.  You and I would

    have so much fun together on the prowl."


7.  "Aren't you afraid that your husband is watching you?"


8.  "Do you take down your husband's pictures when he comes over?"


9.  "What do you know about dating?  You married him right after

      high school."


10.  "Here's some advice I heard from comedian Cory Kahaney, "If you order

      lobster there's pressure to totally put out.  Order the chicken 

      so you just have to touch it." 

Take Naps & Other Stuff We Can Learn From Dogs

Tony Boloney Waffles Scibelli

(This was sent to me and I wanted to share it with my readers...added a bit of my own spin to it)

 If a dog was our teacher, we would learn stuff like:

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.

When it's in our best interest, practice obedience.

Let others know when they've invaded our territory.

TAKE NAPS

Stretch before rising.

Run, romp, and play daily.

Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

On hot days, drink a lot of water and lie under a shady tree.

When we're happy, dance around, and wag our entire body.

Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.

Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.  Stop when we've had enough. (yeah, right)

Be loyal.  Never pretend to be something we're not.

When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle him/her gently.

When we're having a bad day, lick our balls. 

(and for the women...we know what to do...)

10 Stupid Things People Say to Widows - About Bereavement Groups

Since I posted the 10 Stupid Things People Say to Widows about Holidays the phone lines lit up with many more stupid things.  Wait. I'm not on the radio.  That was just an expression.  No phones were involved.

1.  "Any hot widows in your group?  Maybe I could pretend to be a widower."

2. "I can't imagine what you talk about.  Your problem's over."

3. " It's good for you to meet other widows because you have more in 
      common with them than us now."

4. "Any good looking guys?"

5.  "Can you tell if some of the women are secretly happy?"

6.  "Join a Pilates group instead. It's more upbeat."

7.  "What does everyone wear?"

8.  "The leader's been doing this for years?  Do you think she still listens?"

9.  "I'll bet the men only go to meet a lonely, horny woman."

10. "If you had died your husband wouldn't go for counseling. He'd go to   
       Vegas."

10 Stupid Things People Say to Widows - About Holidays

Hiya folks,

   In my book Poor Widow Me I wrote a 10 Stupid Things People Say About... for each chapter topic.  This is how I end each chapter. 

   Since the holidays are creeping up this one is for Holidays.  If anyone has any to add, please let me know and I'll blog it here. 

 And, please let me know which one of these is your favorite.  Is this an assignment? Sure sounds like one. Ahhhh...I hate assignments. Don't do it!

   Love & kisses,
   PWM

       10 Stupid Things People Say To Widows 
                      About Holidays

1.  "Sad, no gift from your husband.  Well, you always returned
     his present, anyway."

2.  "Why don't you throw away all the ornaments and start fresh?"

3. "The holidays will never be the same for you."

4. "What if you meet someone?  Will he sit in your husband's seat?"

5.  "I know how you feel.  My dog died the day before Thanksgiving."

6.  "He ate like a horse.  You may need a smaller turkey. Just kidding..."

7.  "Isn't Christmas music depressing to you?"

8.  "You're relieved? Why? The holidays aren't over until after New Year's."

9.  "I can tell you now.  I never cared for his Christmas sauce."

10. "You're keeping this big house for the once a year you host a
      holiday dinner?"

I've Learned...

Yes...I stole this. Arrest me.  My friend Blondie e-mailed this to me and she promised me good luck if I sent it to five people immediately.  I figured if I have good luck sending it to five people - if I blog it to all my readers my luck will go through the roof. (not literally) 

I've learned that you cannot make somebody love you.
All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in.

I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just assholes.

I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.

I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes.
After that, you'd better have a big willy or hug boobs.

I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to others.
They are more screwed up than you think.

I've learned that you can keep vomiting long after you think you're finished.

I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first,
the passion fades and there had better be a lot of money to take it's place!

I've learned that 99% of the time when something isn't working in your house,
one of your kids did it.

I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too
soon and all the less important ones just never go away.

Celebrity Baseball

I posted this on November 6, 2006 - just seven months after Jimmy died.  These days there's a new stadium for all, new seats for us (cheaper, of course) and reminicing is easier. Today my cousin Sharon asked me to re-print this because it was one of her favorites. She said that it's impossible for her to watch a game without seeing Jimmy holding up "the duck."  Last night, my son Doug was at the game and I know he helped the Yankees win because he brought along "the duck." 

                                                      Jimmy holds the duck...and me.

 Each season brings it's own memories. This year's World Series between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Detroit Tigers made me react as I do every year...."Who cares?"

Catching glimpses of the World Series on my way to another channel and smacking a carpenter ant with the newspaper opened by chance to the Sports page brought back the memory of game two (or was it three?) of the Subway Series in 2000.


I was sitting next to Jimmy in a seat he could have scalped for big bucks or given to one of his begging buddies. I felt unworthy.


“I know you don’t care about the game, but if I come home and tell you I saw celebrities you’ll kill me!” Jimmy said. What a sweet man and so self protective!


Yankee Stadium was vibrating inside and out. It was the first time two New York teams faced off since the Yankees beat the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1956 World Series. Even I could see this was a big deal and it would draw a Kodak crowd.


From the second we parked our car in the lot for season holders and ball players I was on high alert for a celebrity citing. Famous people start and end at this point and I was ready for the fake bump in, a little system I invented, but never had the nerve to do.

Basically, you inch towards a celebrity pretending not know it’s them and then stumble into them. This forces them to say “That’s okay” to your “I’m sorry” which I feel qualifies as a ‘conversation.’


Jimmy’s seats were the legend seats, first row behind the blue wall, with an incredible view of third base straight ahead if you want to see the players run home or even greater view of the Saturday Night Live seats to the right, if you wanted to see what Jack Nicholson smears on his hot dog. Guess which way I faced the entire game?


Jimmy’s loud heckling voice had been known to rattle the opposing team as they warm up just a few feet from us and because he was funny he got the crowd laughing and hooting along with him. At crucial games he brought out ‘the duck’ a tiny (one inch high) yellow rubber duckie. He waited until the Yanks really needed help and then he stood to face the sea of fans throughout our section and beyond. He raised his hand way up with that little duck between his big thumb and index finger and then waved his arm back and forth. 

That movement let the crowd believe that his good luck duck was about to turn the Yankees luck around.  More endearing to me was that he added “I want to show the duck the crowd.”  It was as though Jimmy believed the duck needed the energy of the fans to work his magic.  This is the man I miss.  Right here.

We never named the duck. He was always simply, ‘the duck’ and superstitious fans near ‘the seats’ would yell to Jimmy “We need the duck!” Jimmy told me once, an employee of Yankee Stadium came by and with a straight face said, “Mrs.Torre would appreciate it if you bring out the duck now.” I always thought he made that up...

This day we sat near P. Diddy (then known as Puff Daddy) who sat next to the Reverend Jesse Jackson. Jimmy yelled over,“The two best rappers in New York!” They smiled and waved and I’m sure I heard the Reverend say, “That’s The Duckman.”


Penny Marshall, a huge Yankee fan, was nearby, too. Jimmy introduced us. She posed for a photo with me as she whined about the score.  Jimmy leaned over and used Tom Hanks line from her movie “A League of Her Own”, “There’s no crying in baseball.” She laughed. Jimmy made Penny Marshall laugh. Then she said, “Yeah, I knew I should have cut that line.”


My husband was having a conversation with a celebrity and he didn’t even have to do the fake bump in. Suddenly, I was loving baseball. I had no idea the game was so much fun.


The best was yet to come, though. The game was over and the Yankees had won it 3-1. People in all variations of Yankee wear (and Mets, of course) wear were bopping out of the stadium to Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.”  We get to our car and we are sitting in a maze of cars, vans and limos and there's one frustrated policeman attempting to direct the traffic.


Jimmy jumped out of the car and ran over to help him. As I rolled down the window to yell “What are you doing?” I saw Paul McCartney hop out of his limo and heard him say in that adorable English accent, “I’m going to help the big guy.”


There they stood side by side, my husband and my favorite Beatle, waving their arms like they were conducting an orchastra. The cars began to move.  I stared as Adam Sandler run over to shake Sir Paul’s hand. Because Jimmy seemed to be Paul’s pal he shook his hand, too. Bill Murray appeared and did the same.


I watched Paul McCartney stroll back to his limo, slapped five with my Jimmy, give him the thumbs up, a you're my buddy punch on the shoulder and say to him almost rhythmically “I think it was the duck.”


I went home with a celebrity that day and of course he got lucky that night.

As I write this in my office, in an extra bedroom in my house, on the wall to my left is an 8X10 photo of Jimmy and me standing at the 'seats' at Yankee Stadium with the little duck - the one at the beginning of this entry.  We're both laughing because it's almost too small for the camera to capture.  The actual duck hangs
across that picture secured by a string and a push pin on the wall.

It's all about the memories, now, not just for me, but for all the people who my husband touched with his loud mouth, but mostly with his gentle heart.

Life After Death?

Hey Fellow Widows: Guess what? 


There IS life after death...YOUR life. 
    So get out there and live it!


That was today's public service announcement. 


Private services will be held later, but they're private, so don't ask.


PWM,
Carol

He's Not Dead. He's Just Quiet

 "How could they tell?"
    
   ...Dorothy Parker when told of "silent" Calvin Coolidge's death

This rings true for me because years ago my mother's third husband, Bill, a quiet fella, was whacked in the head by some crazy person.  He was in and out of conciousness, but we barely noticed.  It was just like a normal visit.  The only difference was he was laying in a hospital bed and not on a couch.

George Bernard Shaw Says...

Hey Widows: If you feel funny about finding the funny listen to what
                   George says...

"Life doesn't cease to be funny when people die anymore than it ceases to be serious when people laugh."

                                                  ...George Bernard Shaw

Dr. Seuss Says...

"Don't cry because it's over.  Smile because it happened."
                                                                                       ...Dr. Seuss

Our Profile/Our Status

We’re dating…exclusively. We’ve posted a photo or two of ‘us’ on our Facebook page. Our status is ‘widowed’ until we see that our bbbbboyfriend has chosen “in a relationship” on his.


“Wait a minute. If he’s in a relationship and it’s me, I must be in a relationship too." This is big. It’s huge. We scroll off “widowed” and stop on “single.” That’s accurate, but it’s screaming a v a i l a b l e.

Down we go to “married” and we feel like we do when we pass rows of greeting cards, “To my husband.” Thud. Those days are gone.


We find “in a relationship” and hesitate to click it. Probably next year we’ll be back to “widowed” or “single.” Is that more likely than “married?” Oh yes.


With one press of the mouse we’re off the market. We exhale and notice that all this time we’ve been holding our breath.

My Widow Advice #30 "Bbbbboyfriend"

Dear Carol,

I've been reading your blog ever since my husband passed away three years ago.   We were a close couple and many of the feelings you express I share.  You are more fluid in your speech than I, yet, I find myself nodding as I read you that you may as well be talking with my mouth.

My dilemma is this - I have found a man who I very much enjoy being with in every sense of the word.  We have an understanding that we will be exclusive. I have no desire to date anyone else.  He fills my life where it not long ago was empty.  So, what's the problem, you ask?

Silly, but I have a difficult time introducing him or referring to him as my "boyfriend."  We laugh about it, but I know he is feeling hurt.  We are both in our mid-sixties.  I just wish there was another word.

Why am I resisting this?  You write about M.  Is he your boyfriend?

Charlie's girlfriend,
Penny

Dear Charlie's girlfriend, Penny,

I struggle with the same issue, Penny.  I almost didn't post your letter because I'm not sure I can help you other than to reassure you that many widows stutter the word "bbbboyfriend."  You and I are not that odd..well, in this sense, anyway.  Let's dissect this together.

Is M my bbbboyfriend?  Let's see...

Boyfriend by definiton: 1. A favored male companion.  (check)
                                   2. A male friend who a person is romantically or sexually involved. (check)
                                   3. A man who is the lover of a girl or young woman. (as my father used to say,
                                       "Hold the phone!")

The age thing stops us.  We feel silly saying "boyfriend."  It sounds juvenile.  Strange that we consider giggling together until we can't breathe and sending each other idiotic text messages throughout the day to be mature and "age appropriate."  I know.  Human beings are complicated.

Somehow, when M calls me his "girlfriend" it fits and it's fine.  Why is that?  Older single women in "our third act" (Jane Fonda coined this phrase - 30 years for each act) need another word for our man friend.  I favor "my guy" for an introduction.

"Linda, this is my guy, M."
"Meet M, my guy."
"Hi.  I don't think you and M have ever met. He's my guy."

It works.  And, when you're feeling extra loving you can throw in "special" - "He's my special guy."  Great, except it kinda makes it sound like you have a trunk full of guys and you're especially sweet on this one.

There is, if you want to delve, Penny, a deeper reason we may shy away from "boyfriend,"  Could it be that if we have a boyfriend we have officially "moved on?"

We've become so adept at straddling our worlds.  When we first became a widow we were no longer someone's wife.  I remember for the first year and a half or so when someone would nonchalantly say, "Well, it's okay for you because you're single" I would recoil.  After 33 years of marriage, it threw me to acknowledge this. 

As I began to date I was fairly comfortable to be a single woman out and about. Then, I'd come home to the house we shared.  Jimmy's photos stared at me.  They reminded me of who I really am, our life together.
I'd fall two steps backwards feeling like I was playing the role of the available woman.  It wasn't really me.

My husband's been gone for three and a half years and I've been with Mickey (I know - I spelled it out)  for 8 months.  He's probably been my boyfriend for the last 3.  He's a widower.  He understands that it involves a lot of emotional juggling to take both feet out of my other world to stand firmly with him. 

And, as he and I make memories together the stakes that hold me to his world dig deeper.  This is good.
Yet, we've got to recognize that the balance of past and present continues and will continue to be a hopscotch game.

There will never be a clean slate and why should there be?  When we get to the third act, the first and second don't disappear, right?  At the end of our lives all the players come out for a curtain call.

Right now we're in flux. We're in transition, Penny. We haven't spent enough time playing this part and maybe this is why some days it feels natural to say "boyfriend" and other days it's "bbbbboyfriend."

PWM,
Carol
                               

Poor Widow Me Included in 100 Best Blogs for Boomer Health

Dear Carol,
 
I know this e-mail is out of the blue, but I just posted an article on my blog entitled "100 Best Blogs for Boomer Health"
at http://www.nursepractitionerprogram.com/100-best-blogs-for-boomer-health/.  


Anyway, I am happy to let you know that your site has been included on that list.  I figured I'd bring it to your attention.

Have a good week.

Thanks,
Adrienne Carlson

Dear Adrienne Carlson,

Went to your site and you are really giving out some helpful and important information.  Thank you for including my blog - which, readers is #82. 

I was a bit disappointed that I wasn't in the top ten...I now know how Neil Patrick Harris felt last night when he lost the Emmy to Jon Cryer. Still, he got to host and wear that cool white dinner jacket. 

Life sometimes compensates and I suppose I could have been #99 or #100. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...or worse #101. No, wait, that makes no sense. 

The "Widow" category needs to be further up the line, don't you think, Adrienne?  After all, people get tired of scrolling. I know I do. Just a suggestion.

Thanks, anyway.

I am adding you to my list of "favorite blogs I read" but if you notice - you are LAST. hahahahahahahaha...

PWM

My Widow Advice #29 This Widow is Clonely!

Dear Carol,

I am going to ask my dead husband's twin brother to have sex with me.  Just one time.
I'm not a big fan of his wife, my sister-in-law, so on that level I don't feel disloyal. 

I think my husband would understand.  I miss him so much.  I ache to hold him again.

How awful on a scale of one to ten do you think this would be?

Love your blog, btw,
Judy

Dear Judy,

I was going to blast you, but since you ended with "love your blog" my answer is - go on ahead...boff the twin. 

NO Judy - just kidding. How awful on a scale of one to ten?  Ten. I suppose I could stop here since that absolutely answers your question but your situation is just begging me to continue.

You say because you don't care for your sister-in-law, you don't consider it a betrayal to  sleep with her husband.  Guess what?  It is.

What is wrong with you?  All widows understand that fresh ache, but you're considering fooling around with someone else's husband, you numb nuts!  Grief does not entitle you to seduce your former brother-in-law even if every single freckle is in the exact same place as your late husband.

Twins or no twins there is a huge difference between them.  Can you guess what it is?
Your husband is dead and his twin is alive.

Here's some food (not literally) for thought.  My friend Jade recently performed a cabaret act and her show stopper song was from the 1986 off-Broadway show "Olympus on my Mind."

Jade sang "Wonderful" - the lyrics are about a woman who slept with her husband's twin by mistake (although, he must have known) and she was blown away (literally?) by how far more "wonderful" this man made love.

As a great philosopher never said, but should have: All men are not created equal even if they're hatched from the same egg.

BTW- It's interesting that you assume your husband would understand.  I told myself the same thing when I served M crackers from Jimmy's funeral basket.

PWM,
Carol






 

Bad Reviews For Cougar Response

Dear Folks, (folks? who am I? Mini Pearl?)

Several of you told me that my response yesterday to Scorpia - the 52 year old cougar was incomplete. (a mark from school that brings back memories)

I left out something very important...a health warning. I had considered it, but then I thought - hey, she's 52 - she has to know she's putting herself and her various partners at risk. 

I didn't want to insult her...although I should have realized that since she has chosen to f--k her brains out she has no brains left.

You guys, my readers, certainly are creative when voicing a complaint. BP said,

"How could you not remind her to 'put a sock on?'

Another reader used the term "getting dressed."

I was reminded that "Senior Citizens are the new face of aids" and was directed to a Aug. 2006 article from CBSNEWS which claims nearly 27% of people living with Aids in America were 50 or older. 

This is horrifying! Is 50 really considered a senior citizen???  Oh, and the Aids thing is scary, too.

My buddy, Michele LaFong a ventriloquest/comic said it best.  

"I think it's a little dangerous that you didn't address the
'NO GLOVE NO LOVE.'

Out of the unmoving mouths of ventriloquests!

P.S. SPEAKING OF TAKING BACK OR CORRECTING OURSELVES- Last night on Jay Leno I watched Kayne West who acted like an asshole on Sunday's MTV awards and ruined Taylor Swift's moment - He genuinely seemed remorceful to me - You know the old saying, "It's not what you do, it's what you do NEXT."

My Widow Advice #28 I've Turned Into A Cougar

Dear Poor Widow Me,

I would like to know if I'm crazy. I lost my husband only six months ago.  I understand this is not a very long time period compared to other bloggers who have written to you.

The truth is I could have written to you three months ago, had I had the guts to do so. 

I am 52 years old.  I am not in bad shape.  I consider myself still a sexy gal.  I have been on a fantasy campaign. I have been screwing guys on first dates, in strange places, under crazy circumstances - and I can't stop.  The funkier the situation the better!

My sex life for 28 years was nondescript at best.  I thought I was happy and "satisfied."  I am now in cougar mode and I can seem to slow it down.  One of my dates asked me if he could bring a friend over tonight.   I never hesitated and said sure, man or woman?  It's a man (thank God - I think)

I never batted an eye when he asked me.  You don't know me, but this is a 180 degree turn around for me.  I never cheated or even thought about it more than the average married woman does.

I don't even know if I WANT to stop.  I would be happy just to understand what is going on.  Any light you could shine would help.

Scorpia

Dear Scorpia,

Is that your name or your horoscope sign?  Oh, that would be Scorpio.  Sorry - I'm just betting it's not your real name. 

You're not crazy, sweetie. You're horney. And, I don't believe for a second that you were happy and "satisfied" for 28 years.  You know I'm right.  No doubt you feel foolish for staying so long in a medicore marriage. 

If your funky escapades began 3 months after your husband's death I bang my gavel down (not literally) on you as "Guilty for wanting to feel alive."

Do you know what married couples do when they come home from a funeral?  They make love - it washes off death.  Physical contact fills them up with life.  (And, the orgasm ain't tough to take, either)

Scorpia, you say that while you were married you didn't think about being with another man more than average wife does, but who knows how often that is?  Perhaps I should take a survey among my readers and married friends. 

 I think fantasizing is directly proportional to how long the marriage is.  Venturing a guess here, I think we mentally wander after 15 years for about 15 years and then at 30 years we settle in to appreciating the sex life we have with our old man. 

Of course, by this point we are in our fifties and no matter how good we look (for our age) unless we date blind men (not the kind who install shades) undressing in front of a new man can be as traumatic as trying on bathing suits in a well lite dressing room. 

You waited for your husband to die to live.  That's hard to admit especially to yourself, but you're not crazy.  You were 24 when you married and now you're 52...(finally playing with a full deck)

You're overindulging because now you can. You saw how quickly life can slip away. Pat yourself on the back that you didn't cheat.  Sounds like you had a fire going that no one man could match.

We all overindulge given the opportunity.  Widows have the opportunity.  Some of us shop, others drink, gamble and redecorate.  Wait...I do all four.  I'm not crazy. Or am I?

Be kind to yourself and make sure the characters you saddle up with are kind to you.  (unless you like it otherwise)

My Widow Advice #27 Am I A Widow If My Husband Is Still Alive?

Dear Carol,

I feel crazy writing this. Okay, are you ready? I think my husband is still alive. We buried him last August. It was just a year, the 22nd.

The thing is he loved to ski. I went to Vermont last February and there he was on
the lift with his feet dangling just the way he did that. His jacket was different, but I figured he’d have to buy all new clothes.

I looked for him the rest of the day and couldn't’ find him.

The next time I saw him was in June and he was leaving a movie theatre near our old apartment. It was raining hard and he pulled up the hood of his jacket and then opened an umbrella so he couldn’t hear me yelling to him.

And, just yesterday I was at our daughter’s day camp giving the tips to the counselors when I looked over by the fence and saw him leaning on it. The weird thing is he was smoking and he gave that up years ago.

I’m thinking we buried someone else and my Jack is out and about with amnesia not knowing he has a wife and child. Or, my mind is whirling wondering whether I am seeing a spirit?

Please tell me what to do. I am thinking of going to the police with his photo so they can be on the lookout for him.

Your friend,
Not Sure If I’m a Widow,
Angela

Dear Not Sure If I’m a Widow Angela,

“The weird thing is that he was smoking and he gave that up years ago.” THAT is the weird part to you?

Angela, Angela, Angela – Get a grip. Your husband does not have amnesia. Your life has drastically changed but it hasn't become an episode of One Life to Live, Days of Our Lives or General Hospital.

Are you seeing his spirit? I’m going to go with a booming 97% no, leaving 3% on the table like a bad tip. Plenty of people are convinced that our soul lives on and I am somewhat in that camp. “Ghosts” with Demi, Whoopie and Patrick Swayzie swayed me to believe in the power of love beyond time and space.

Unfinished business on this earth may rattle the line between their world and ours, but as I’ve said in other blog entries and at many a happy hour my husband and yours have finer fish to fry (not literally) as they travel the universe unburdened by their physical body.

And, unburdened by that theory, I take solace when I assume that he isn’t peeking in at me and my guy M behind closed doors or scratching at it as my dog Tony does. If Alison Dubois of “Medium” has taught us anything it’s that spirits never have to worry about losing their keys.

Angela, it’s natural that you see your husband in others because you miss him so much. You witness a heavy set man being tossed like a salad from an all you can eat buffet that’s HIM. You catch a guy on the train scratching his balls with one hand and signing with his other to strangers on the platform –that’s HIM.

Get some professional help and stop looking over your shoulder for your husband. He’s where he’s supposed to be…in your heart and if you didn't f--k around - in your daughters eyes.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #26 Three Time Loser?

Dear Poor Widow Me,

I have followed your blog since my good friend Natalie told me about it. That was a year ago. I must tell you that I have enjoyed and found useful just about all of your advice...you are a real pro.

Although, I hope I don't have to go through the process of bereavement again, I buried my third husband last October (2008) Yes, Carol, number 3 and I am 62 years young.

I just met a very nice gentleman at my club. He is new to the club and it seems he has taken a fancy to me. Some of the other ladies have taken to calling me the black widow and that really hurts.

Herein lies my problem...At what point do I tell this gent that I have buried 3 husbands already?
I'd like to do it before the "ladies" get his ear.

Should I just not say anything and have him bring it up? Help me 2 step through this, Carol!

BTW: I have two grown children by my second (and longest) marriage.

Please hurry with your response!

Three Time Loser,
Wanda

Dear Three Time Loser Wanda,

There goes the saying, "3's a charm." Hopefully, for you, #4 is your lucky number, although, for every one's sake it may be best (especially for the guy) if you stay single.

You don't mention how your husbands died. I suppose unless it was by poison or gunshot or he was checking your headlights and you accidentally stepped on the gas it doesn't matter.

Potential suitors are generally not wowed by a dramatic story. They are typically reassured by the boring:

"How does someone fall off a step stool?"
"I told him the gas was on."
"I should have known his heart would give out. It was like a pea."

Should you tell this new fella? Well, it's gonna come out. The mean ladies at the club are salivating for just the right moment to refer to you as "black widow" as they stand next to him at the buffet innocently scooping out a bagel and filling it with low fat vegetable tuna.

If you were putting together a profile on one of the dating sites I certainly wouldn't mention it. "Widow" is sufficient - let a stranger also assume you're 40 years old and 25 pounds lighter - until he meets you. Every body's doing it.

Oh, you'd better let him know before one of your kids blab that their father was number two and you carelessly "lost" number three. Children are such a blessing, aren't they?

In conclusion, Wanda the Widow, even though it's an understandable to conveniently forget to mention three dead husbands if you're not upfront it will no doubt lead to other doubts.

On the positive side, if you don't like to cook telling him could cause him to insist that you and he eat out breakfast, lunch and dinner. Make sure he always pays...use the reasoning few of us have, "All these funerals have cost me a bundle!"

My Widow Advice #25 Stress this!

Dear Carol,

My husband Paul passed on June 23rd - a car hit him. I've been dealing with not only his loss (we were married 17 wonderful years and two girls, 11 and 14) but the anger and frustration of losing him in this senseless way.

The police have closed the case and not charged the driver because it seems that Paul had a heart attack and fell into the way of traffic while walking. I'm not convinced of this because there was no sign or family history. He was just 49.

My friends tell me to contact a medium and maybe he or she will be able to tell me if he is all right and if he indeed had a heart attack. And, I want to know that he is
happy.

I am also distressed because we had just had an awful fight and he left the house angry "to blow off steam" and obviously never came home. Maybe, a psychic will tell me if his state of mind contributed to his death? If this is true I will never be able to forgive myself.

I'm writing to you because you seem smart and clear headed. I feel silly going to a
psychic, but what else can I do?

Thank you.

Confused in California,
Stacy

Dear Confused in California Stacy,

What else can you do? You can mourn your husband's death and grieve as all widows do. Make up your mind here and now that your story, while compelling and a bit unusual is not the moment in time for you to hold unto.

Paul died. If he stopped breathing on your couch while watching re-runs of Seinfeld would you wonder if the story line from that episode made him anxious?

Let's take your concerns one by one. You're worried that because you had an argument (was it your first fight in 17 years?) you contributed to his death?

The following is good example of an emotionally healthy reaction to a similar situation....

My friend who is now in her forties told me that when she was 19 she had a fight with her brother and her last words to him were, "Drop dead!" He proceeded to
go out and get hit by a car. Very similar except he was in a coma for three months, came out of it and today is a husband and father. Happy ending.

I was horrified and said, "Oh, my God...you must have felt kind of responsible." She answered, "Not at all. My brother knew I loved him."

Stacy, Paul knew you loved him. And, if stress did contribute to his heart attack or even his lack of awareness of the traffic YOU are not responsible for how he handled or mishandled his stress - Any more than his late night Rocky Road binges, driving like he's Mario Andretti or complaining that you don't give him enough blow jobs. (to a man it's never enough, so again, you're off the hook.)

Your "I'll never be able to forgive myself" is a stupid declaration. It belongs in the
garbage with:

"That was the last time I'll order a third martini."
"I'll never let that junk drawer get so messy again."
"Why did you make me cut bangs? I hate you."

Let's discuss your worry that Paul isn't "happy." Not for nothing, why wouldn't Paul be happy now? He's free from the burden of bringing home the bacon (not literally) and he no longer will get roped into a pointless debate with friends over Obama's health care policy.

While, granted, poor Paul will not see your daughters grow up, he checked out just in time to miss the wonder years of PMS and seeing their heads spin around when you declare the guy your baby faced daughter thinks she loves is a dirt bag.

Oh, and by the way, you and only you will have to point out to her, "Honey, your skirt is too short because I can see your Tampex string...Good times, eh?

Paul is flying light and bright and most likely he's on to another universe where music is soulful, all spirits are kind and he doesn't really give a shit that this minuscule blink of an eye life is over.

By example your daughter's will absorb that after the darkness of a tragedy the light of life peeks through and we must look toward it for a new beginning. Throw away the psychics number and give your girls that example.

My Widow Advice #24 Hey, Widows, You're Not That Special!

Dear Carol,

I've been reading your blog since a friend sent to me last year a month after my Pete passed. It's been a big big relief to hear that you and so many widows experience many of the same
reactions and feelings.

In my small town there are no bereavement groups. Your blog is my group!

I thought I was going crazy! I'm just writing to say "thank you."

God bless you!

Sharon

Dear Sharon,

Your e-mail warms my cockles (what are cockles?) I'm grateful to know that the Internet connected you to me and poor widow me has helped you and that the input from other widows has given you a sort of group consensus. And, I do appreciate that you took the time and effort
just to say "thank you."

THAT SAID, I'm taking this opportunity to wonder aloud something that bothers me or as my friend Connie says, "It rides my nerves." Connie, from Queens has obviously lived in New Jersey way too long.

My pet peeve is: Why do we adults need others to validate our feelings?
Sharon, did you not know that everything you feel after loosing your husband is normal?

We're not a 13 year old boy from Utah growing up in the '60's alarmed that his dick grows while
watching re-runs of Spartacus. He fears he's abnormal and decides the only way to make his mama proud is to become a priest.

We're not that kid. We are grown-ups and as the saying goes, "We may be shiny but we're not new...or we may have been born at night, but not LAST night. I am continually shocked that other widows are surprised that other widows can't focus enough to read a book the first year or are unable to eat lamb chops, his favorite.

We're human beings. Our reaction and feelings run the gamut but at the same time are universal. Our loved one dies, we hurt. We sit on the edge of the bed smelling his tee-shirt and his hairbrush. It's a scene unimaginative directors use because it is universal.

We cry at old songs and we get scared that we'll run into someone who may not know he died. We blurt out, "Oh, you must have mistaken me for someone else" and we run away. (okay, I almost did that)

We have trouble sleeping or we sleep all the time. We redecorate or we change nothing. His cuff links remain on his night table and we make coffee for him every morning. (all right, the coffee part may be nuts)

We get a dog for companionship and/or a boyfriend for spite. We use "He would have wanted me to buy a new car" to get what we want. In this case, a new car.

His annoying habits are elevated to "If I could have him back I wouldn't mind." Then, the truth kicks us in the ass and we realize after and hour and a half he'd be annoying again.

We make no sense, Sharon, but because we are grieving we make perfect sense.
Grow up grievers and stop acting surprised that you're not that special!

My Widow Advice #23 Back in the Bedroom

Dear Carol,

Here is my dilemma. My Paul passed away 2 yrs. ago from a sudden heart attack at age 58. We were married 39 years, no kids, just us.

He had gone up to bed & when I went to join him I found him on MY side of the bed. He always took my heating pad out from under the bed & plugged it in for me...Anyway...since then, I have not been able to sleep in our bed, or bedroom. I have slept downstairs for two years on a couch in the den.

I know that I cannot sleep down here forever....I was wondering...what if I got a new bedroom set, changed the room around, put up wall paper & new carpeting...

Would this help me to get back into that room? Has anyone else you know had this problem? I would be so interested in your advice.

Thanks so very much.

Karolee

Dear Karolee,

I normally don't encourage widows to feel sorry for themselves, but look, really look at your loss.

For nearly 40 years (even Hallmark agrees it's the Big 40 and that's just years lived.)
you shared a house, a home, with Paul. You find him dead in your bed on YOUR side (your emphasis, not mine) reaching for a heating pad for YOU. Geez. Some women would torch the freakin' room.

We widows all have emotionally charged areas in our homes. We either avoid them totally as you've done or as you suggest - redecorate. See how smart you are?

You're right. A quick shot of Botox will not do. Your bedroom needs a facelift - new bedroom furniture, carpeting and a different configuration. A new mattress and a set of sheets is a band aide.

When you go to choose the furniture, etc. be mindful that you may hear a little voice that sounds eerily like Paul. He may be scolding you that you're spending too much money. (I've heard that one - in death and in life)

Or, he may be telling you that as you replace you erase and you know, that is partically true. We need to clear away some of the shared "things" so we can breathe fresh air. New things represent our future.

Since Jimmy died I've done lots of redoing to many rooms - some in an effort to not continually face the old memories and some to make areas more useful for Skylar, my granddaughter. And, some because he didn't want to and I did and now I can. Period. Nothing sentimental about that one.

Although, there is the bedroom, the master bedroom, our bedroom, my bedroom. I sleep there with my dog Tony but never with M. Why? I don't know. Maybe one of my readers can tell me...or maybe you can, Karolee?

150 Poor Widow Meeees

I've been home from San Diego since Sunday but I needed to digest the Widow Conference before I wrote about it. Okay, also, I'm lazy. I had to unpack, do a little laundry, visit Skylar, my cutie pie granddaughter, pick up my perfect dog, Tony and spend time with Mickey, the man I'm seeing who I tell everyone "you can't not like him."

(Is that a double negative, Vera?) Vera is my great friend from Junior HS who is now a retired English teacher. If she could mark up my monitor screen with red ink she would.

Last night Mickey and I went to CitiField to the Paul McCartney conference. I mean, concert. See? I am thinking about the conference.

By the way, Paul was fantastic. He's still my favorite Beatle, although, of course, now we only have 50% of the Beatles left. This is similar to the 0% of the husbands at the conference. You didn't think I could tie it in, did ya? HA!

I had a bit of a bounce in my step arriving at the Marriott in San Diego because I had come from two days at the Bellagio in Vegas and I WON. Yes, this was the second time in my life I walked with a "winners strut." Jimmy would have been flabbergasted. He always called me his "anchor" and he didn't mean it in a good way.

Traveling alone feels fairly comfortable these days. It quickly turns uncomfortable again, though, as I get caught up grieving about not grieving. As my friend Jade says, "Everything comes with an "oy." My new widow friends can attest to that, for sure.

I woke up early on Friday eager to begin the seminars that the founder of Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, Michele Heff Hernandez promised would be amazing. Unfortunately, each unmarked door I opened revealed a lonely pedestal and rows of empty chairs. Where was everyone? I did find the "Speaker's luncheon", but that turned out to be for the speakers. Who knew?

At last, someone pointed out to me that Saturday was the main day for the sessions. In an environment of only widows I couldn't play the widow card to mask my stupidity. There I was Queen for a Day and everyone was wearing a crown. Damn.

Not to bog this blog (say that 3X fast) Bog this blog - Bog this blog - Bog this blog - with too many details I must spout out the highlights and headlines. A surprise was that there were 8 widows from Singapore. (Doesn't that sound like a title?) "Eight Widows From Singapore" available in bookstores everywhere.

Anyway, they came just for this conference and they didn't even stop in Vegas. (I know. I asked.) Please check out their blog http://www.wicare.org.sg/. I also met a widow from Kenya named Hilda Orimba Agola who founded Widows and Orphans Welfare Society of Kenya. After this introduction I felt myself literally shrink.

Dr. Rajaa Al Kuzai, a trained Ob-Gyn traveled from Baghdad and as we shook hands I became indistinguishable from the speck of dust that clung to my Capri pants. Her website is http://www.iraquiwidows.org/. You'd think with this accomplished bunch I'd have no one to play with, but I sought my own level.

Enter Sandi from Anaheim, CA, my buddy. A smart, fun lady who lost her husband George about three years ago. Ellen, Linda, Debbie, Carol, Eileen, Cathy, Cary and Sharon were only some of the women I talked with and laughed with and bonded with.

We connected instantly by way of loss and like prisoners in jail who ask, "How long are you in for?" we began our greetings with "How long has it been?"

For most of us it was two, three, four years. We didn't dwell on how it happened as much as what has happened to us in the aftermath. We all shook our heads acknowleding that unfocused and foggy first year. Friends and family - gratitude and disappointment, mostly gratitude. Children and grandchildren, all that he is missing. Balancing our checkbook, reading a whole book? No way.

For Cathy it was 13 months. She was visibly more fragile than the rest of us. For Cary it was 10 months. She was still in the phase that she made plans only to fold into herself and wonder what she must have been thinking. On Saturday morning she told me she was staying until Monday before traveling back to New Jersey.

"I think I'll rent a car and drive up the coast" she said enthusiastically. "I'll stop wherever I stop, maybe in a bed and breakfast place. I've never done that." To an outsider she seemed reved up by her new adventure.

A handful of hours later I told the gang, "Guess what Cary's going to do..."
"Oh, I'm not doing that" she said emphatically like it had never been a thought.

Non-widows may have prodded her with a "Come on. It will make you feel good." But, not us. We knew that at that stage, that first year, year and a half we can not make plans. We might accept an invitation for dinner an hour before if we felt up to it...but on Monday to plan for Wednesday? Impossible.

Just some other people you may want to know: Marian Fontana (http://www.marianfontana.com/ )
who wrote "A Widow's Walk" about her firefighter husband, killed September 11th - believe me, she is one of the funniest widows you ever want to know. Now, she's writing a book about dating. That got my attention.

Mie Elmhirst, MBA - http://www.widowsbreathe.com/ told how she divided up her husband's ashes to split evenly between her mother-in-law and brother-in-law. It was a "don't try this at home" message literally in a bottle.

Anne Marie Ginella, founder of http://www.widow-speak.org/ raised my global awareness of the widow's plight although I still have more enthusiasm for my new favorite show "Nurse Jackie" on Showtime with Edie Falco. This may be why I'm "Poor Widow Me" and not "Poor Widow Everyone" - we are the world...

A soft spoken yet dynamic speaker, Dr. Leslie Beth Wish, Ed.D, MSS (wanted us to call her LB) is at http://www.lovevictory.com/ She "confessed" to not being a widow, but she qualified herself because her mother died when she was fairly young and her good looking doctor father was pounced on immediately with casseroles and cleavage. It worked. He remarried, she died, remarried, she died and remarried and she died. LB saw widowhood many many many many times.

It may be a cop out to say, "You had to be there" because isn't it my job to give you the flavor of the weekend? Did I? I hope I did. The bottom line is we all fit into each others shoes. That was the magic.

The heartiest laugh? Those of us dating imagine our husbands are saying, "Sex? NOW, you're interested?"

A Widow Conference

Hi all,

Just to say that I''ll be away this week without a laptop and won't be writing until next week. I'll be in San Diego at a widow conference...Not a big one...just a widow one.

What do widows do at a conference? When we first arrive we take our lipstick and paint an upper case W on our forehead. This is why you rarely see a widow with bangs.

Anyway, I hope this tribal marking comes off easily. I'd hate to be stopped at the airport.

Enjoy your week. Make it a great one...

Carol Leifer is a Liar, but Timely for my Blog

Hi All,

I had to break from the letters because this interview is so in tune to what I blogged about last entry...July 8th.

On AOL today:

Comedian Carol Leifer on Her Mid-Life Change

At 40, comedian and author Carol Leifer decided to spice up her life by having a fling with a woman. But the 10-year divorcee never thought that her first lesbian venture would evolve into a 13-year partnership. (THAT I BELIEVE)

Now, she shares a home and has a child with her partner, Lori. In her new book, "When You Lie About Your Age, The Terrorists Win," Leifer talks about life after 40, the moment she discovered she might be gay and how her life has changed for the better.

AOL Health: When you were younger, were there any indications that you might be gay?

Carol Leifer: I entitled the chapter "Surprise" because it was like my life threw me a surprise party. I really didn’t have any clue, and in fact, had very good physical relationships with men. (LIAR!)

It was around when I turned 40 that I had this really intense desire to have an affair with a woman. It just kind of overtook me, kind of like when you feel like you're on a mission. (OH, PLEEZ!) When [Lori and I] first got together, I really thought this would be a nice fling. It was a surprise to me that I was falling in love, (PANTS ON FIRE!) but who would know this many years later that the first woman I would have a relationship with would wind up being my long-term partner who I'm about to celebrate a 13-year anniversary with.

AOL Health: You write about being immediately enamored with Lori the first time you met her. Was confronting those feelings alarming or difficult?

Leifer: This [was] supposed to be my fun fling, not the thing that redefined my sexuality and redefined almost everything about me. (WHEN YOU'RE STRAIGHT A FUN FLING IS HOT SEX WITH SOMEONE 20 YEARS YOUNGER - AND, OH, THE OPPOSITE SEX)

AOL Health: After you figured out what it was you wanted, how long did it take for you to start coming out to your friends and family?

Leifer: The hardest part was coming out to my parents -- to my middle-class, New York, Jewish parents. My parents were definitely disappointed that my marriage didn't work, but I think they always pictured me with a husband ultimately and having a child. (DUH)

When I told my parents I thought they were disappointed, but they were so happy that my partner Lori was Jewish, and my ex-husband wasn't. They were like, "Let's have some Manichewitz and toast."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh-AN OLD, OLD JOKE!!!!!

My Widow Advice #22 A Lesbian Lesson

Dear PWM,

I've got one for you, Carol. I think I'm a lesbian. 27 years married and I am thinking about approaching this beautiful, sexy woman (who I am almost positive is gay) at my gym. This never crossed my mind in the past, but when I see this gorgeous creature work out and get sweaty, I get a tingle that I haven't had since my honeymoon.

My husband, John is dead 7 years now. Good marriage and the sex was fine. I have been out with a few men, but nothing sexual has transpired. I guess I didn't give off that "Come screw me
aura" that men look for, or at least I think they look for. Maybe, I just wasn't interested. I don't know.

But, this woman at the gym keeps smiling like she knows something and I'm about to find out. I guess my question is what the hell is going on in my 49 year old body AND mind? Have I switched gears without any thought process involved? I am confused, but I am also telling
myself, why not?

John Would Die All Over Again,
Stephanie

Dear John Would Die All Over Again, Stephanie,

First of all, I don't believe that sexual thoughts about women have never crossed your mind. Come on, Stephanie. If you're going to write to me, be straight with me (as in open and honest, of course)

You watch a "gorgeous creature get sweaty and you get a tingle?" Oh, pleeze. You're 49 years old. Surely (or Shirley) you've been turned on by women before. Our sexual preference isn't something we suddenly switch. It's not like the restaurant is out of minestrone soup so we order the lobster bisque.

Changing teams sometimes happens when you fall in love with your best friend - that I concede.
Sexuality for women is tied up with emotional fulfillment and if she's more "there for you" than your hubby that can lead to a physical involvement. But, this is not what you are professing.

You're not sending out the "come screw me aura" to men because you're too busy fantasizing about the ladies. You're not interested just like you weren't genuinely interested in your husband. Most likely you fell into a comfortable sex life with a man that left you lukewarm.

Go and have a hot time - be a lesbian - be who you were all along and hopefully John is up there
looking the other way.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #21 Charles in Charge

Not Charles - Didn't Have a Photo of a Great Dane

Dear Carol,

I read with interest your answer to Ann, the one whose kids gave her a puppy for Christmas. I had the same situation last year. I was missing my husband.

My son gave me a Great Dane puppy. Charles has grown into a huge boy of 187 pounds. He is as gentle as he is big. He is kind and loving. And, like you and your Tony we sleep together.

I used to be on match.com. Not anymore. Charles is a lap dog in the true sense.

Satisfied Widow,

Angela

Dear Satisfied Widow Angela,

I have always been suspicious of women with really big male dogs. UGH! Am I judging?

YOU BET I AM!

The sub-title of this blog and my book is "Finding the New Normal." It seems you have found the new ABnormal.

I guess from now on I'd better clarify when I say I'm a dog lover.


PWM,
Carol

My Widow Man - Tony

My Widow Advice #20 Puppy Love

Dear Carol,

My grown kids surprised me with a puppy last night on Christmas Eve. He’s a cute little thing, (a beagle mix) but I was up all night with him and here it is Christmas Day and I’m exhausted.

They told me they didn’t want me to wake up alone this morning, my first holiday without my husband. I am not happy about this because I have told them repeatedly not to get me a dog.

They used to complain that their father didn’t want a dog in the house, but the truth is I was content to blame him when the kids were young and begged us for one. I’d theatrically throw up my hands in a ‘You know your Dad’ phony gesture.

My husband has been gone for 8 months and of course I am lonely, but I am planning some trips this winter and now I will be busy paper training and worrying about what to do with Buster (I named him Buster because of the shoe store Buster Brown and he is mostly brown) when I am away.

The kids knew I wasn’t happy, but they just laughed and said soon I would fall in love with him and thank them.

What should I do?

Suddenly a Dog Owner,
Ann

Dear Suddenly a Dog Owner, Ann,

First of all, congratulations on getting away with putting the blame on your husband all those years. It seemed to have worked, although maybe the kids were on to you and Buster is payback time.

Or, could it be that your husband had a deathbed request, “Promise me, kids, you’ll get your mother a puppy next Christmas.” Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head? (not literally) What a clever way for your husband to get even with you for letting him take the rap!

I am familiar with this particular pathology because my husband and I used to let other parents be the bad guys. We’d say yes to everything (trip with friends to Puerto Rico when our daughter was fifteen, sky diving and I believe I remember a no curfew policy at thirteen.)

Ann, you’re talking to the wrong person here. I love dogs. I didn’t have one when the kids were young because my husband was allergic. In those days there weren’t that many non-allergic breeds.

After my husband was gone a little over a year my gardener GAVE me Tony, a year old Morky (Yorkie & Maltese combo) I resisted, too at first because I wanted to come and go as I pleased. A dog would tie me down.

My friend Sheri nudged me to take him. She said she’d either be a hero or I’d hate her.

I didn’t fall in love immediately. It took 12 hours. Tony slept with me and that was it. (Am I a slut?) Now, I can’t imagine how I came home to an empty house that first year. Without a doubt, he is the best thing I have done.

My kids love him and my little granddaughter adores him and I have tons of friends who are happy to watch him when I go away. Sheri is a hero.

Give Buster a chance. He will bring life back into your house when you’re alone and your family will re-focus their love and begin to make new memories and traditions with Buster. He was a perfect holiday surprise. Let your kids be heros.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #19 Poor Widow Her

Dear Carol,

My mother-in-law is mad at me – AGAIN. Her husband has been dead for 9 years. Last week was the day. I didn’t call her. I thought of it early in the day and then I got busy. So, shoot me!

My husband, (obviously, her son) stopped by her house (she lives 3 blocks
away) that morning to have coffee with her. She told him that doesn’t count
because they meet up every Tuesday.

Also, he doesn’t represent me, she said. How long are we supposed to acknowledge a death day?

Frustrated in Pennsylvania,
Joyce

Dear Frustrated in Pennsylvania Joyce,

Are you kidding me? You haven’t figured out yet that you’re expected to
acknowledge your father-in-law’s death day until your mother-in-law dies? You
don’t mention how old she is, but if she lives another 20 years you’ll be
acknowledging his death day 29.

Sounds ridiculous? Well, that’s because it is. Still, from what you tell me she
can never be satisfied. It’s obvious that this is not your only issue with her.

Come on, though. It’s one day. It’s not like she’s expecting you to remember
the day he was diagnosed, then the first round of chemo or when they brought
the wheelchair home – you get my drift?

Personally, I was acutely aware that my widow perks would taper off at the end
of the first year. Sure enough, as the anniversary issue hit the stands, I was
expected to help out in the kitchen again and clear my own plate.
No more, “Oh, you sit. We’ll take care of it.”

This snap out of it attitude by friends and family helped me to heal, though.
I noticed that the amount of concern and outreach from friends were fairly in
line with my “recovery” (for lack of a better word I’ve made myself sound like a drug
addict.)

When people surround us with long soulful hugs and teary eyes it’s nearly
impossible to resist snuggling up to them and purring like a kitten. Our
emotional growth is stilted when we’re surrounded by so much sympathy.

Some widows regress to sucking their thumbs while others continuously sigh.
We, the recent husbandless, are forever apologizing for waking up with our head
resting in our co-worker’s lap.

As much as I like a good foot massage and a pass from buttering my own toast
it’s a relief to me to finally hear, “Get your ass off the couch and help out!”

Your mother-in-law is not of that ilk. She doesn’t want to lose her “widow
status.” It doesn’t matter why. It’s sad. She needs the attention. Give it to her.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice # 18 Praise Ourselves For Living Well

Dear Carol,

I’m here to tell you and your readers that today is my four year anniversary and I am indeed enjoying my life now. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my husband, but these days I look fifteen years younger than the day he died.

Taking care of him for 16 months took a toll on me. I miss the man I who was my husband before he got sick. During his illness his whole personality changed and except for small moments I felt as though I was taking care of a stranger. Our dynamic was gone.

This is something I never could have said out loud or even to myself for the first two years.

Tell your readers that on the anniversary of their spouse's death instead of being melancholy they should praise themselves for living well.

A Proud Widow,
Shelly

Dear A Proud Widow, Shelly,

Thank you. I couldn't have said it better myself. Although, not for nothing, I would have been funnier.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #17 A Widow Confused

Hi Folks...this is out of season, like mittens because it's from the Dealing with Holidays & Anniversaries chapter of my book.
Dear Carol,

My kids are upset. There is a daughter, 30 and a daughter, 32. The older one is divorced with a four year old boy. They were brought up with a Christmas tree and all the dinner trimmings because my husband, Jim was Italian (I’m Jewish, but not practicing)

Their father passed away suddenly a year ago and now, I am dating a Jewish fellow. I like Steve, but he is not my whole world, not yet anyways.

Back to why my kids are mad at me. I told them that Steve will come to Christmas dinner at my house, but not if I have a Christmas tree. They really want the tree up. I didn't put the tree up last Christmas because it was so close (November 20th) to when Steve died. I didn’t have the heart to see all the old decorations and all.

This year I am ready. I want to continue the traditions. I think it’s good for our family. Now I have this development, though. Steve won’t come. Should I tell my kids I still can’t face trimming the tree memories? This way Steve will come. Unfortunately, I already spilled the beans about Steve not wanting a tree in my house.

Thank you for your advice. I will follow what you say because you always tell it like it is.

Merry Christmas,

Judy, A Confused Widow

Dear Judy, A Confused Widow,

What the %$*&# is wrong with you? Kick Steve to the curb immediately. And, while you’re at it you may want to sit curbside with him until you figure out what should be your priority this holiday season.

You say you want to continue the traditions, yet you are inviting a Christmas tree hating man to sit at your table. Why don’t you make sure Steve sits in Jim’s chair to make sure that everyone is completely crazed?

I don’t care how open minded your daughters are and whether or not they encourage you to date. I’m not judging that. What I am judging is that you are putting your needs ahead of your daughter’s and your grandson.

Put up your tree. Tell Steve that the kids are accustomed to this and it’s way to early in the game to throw them a curve ball. You are actually lucky that good ‘ol Steve objected to the tree because it showed how insensitive he is to your fragile family. Most importantly, a point you seem to miss, is that a new man should not be at your house celebrating the holidays this year tree or no tree.

Steve sounds like a control freak. Lots of Jews don't want a tree in their own house, but are thrilled to visit and help decorate trees in friend's homes. This brings to mind my little theory about Jews and crosses. Jewish people are not fans of the cross. Crosses make Jews uncomfortable. My old friend Jeanne used to wear a huge one around her neck and she wasn't a rock star. Anyway, my Aunt Hannah would refer to her as "the one with the cross."

This brings me to St. Francis Hospital, a renowned heart hospital. According to me, and only me the reason St. Francis has such an amazing rate of recovery for patients is because when Ira Shapiro is wheeled into his room and sees a cross over his bed he leaps up and declares, "I'm cured!" Anything to avoid sleeping in a bed with a cross hovering over you.

Judy, you are the matriarch now. Stop acting like a selfish 15 year old with a crush and show your children some grace. Get your little grandson to sit in your husband’s chair. Tell him even though he weighs 35 pounds he’s the only man who can fill Grandpa’s seat. (I know - the expression is shoes.)

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #16 The Biggest Role

Dear Carol, (PWM)

I am besides myself. You always seem to put things in perspective and since you've been there I am willing to listen to what you have to say. You say it funny, too and that raises my spirits.

So, here's my story. I lost my husband, Phil 3 years ago - it will be 3 years this month (May 25Th) and our 35Th wedding anniversary was last month (April 22ND)

I forgot it! I forgot our anniversary! The day passed and it was two days before I realized. I feel just awful. I never would have believed I could forget such a milestone date. Maybe, I could understand it if it was 10 years , but not after only 3 years.

I can't forgive myself. I feel like I'm leaving Phil behind.

Terrible Widow Penny

Dear Terrible Widow Penny,

STOP IT! The only widows who are terrible are those who killed their husbands. Did you kill Phil? (Hey, that rhymes)

Let's look at your letter together, Penny. Your three year anniversary of Phil's death is just weeks after your wedding anniversary. Is it possible that you were so anxious about that date that your mind skipped over your anniversary, a day that frankly you no longer celebrate?

A milestone? You didn't miss it by a nose, Penny. It's three years later. Not for nothing, it's like a finish line you didn't cross.

My gang of old friends were talking recently. I was married in 1972 and the others were married in 1974. My last anniversary was in 2005 - we clocked out at 33 years. If I was still counting we'd be celebrating our 37th anniversary this August.

My friends are now married 35 years - They actually said, "You're married the longest." What? I told them I think we stop counting when death do us part. Same as with our husband's birthday. We pause and remember he would have been... but we don't order a cake.

I know. I know. You are beating yourself up because you didn't pause and remember. So what?
I take this as a sign that you're living your life. The death date interrupts our life far more than a wedding anniversary because we tend to compartmentalize "before" and "after." And, people constantly ask us, "How long has it been?"

A widow's response? (including you) We rattle off the exact number of months, weeks and days like Dustin Hoffman did with the toothpick count when he played an idiot savant in Rain Man.

Let's reverse this. When we do remember something does that mean it's more important than something we've forgotten? I'm a bit of an idiot savant so my head is crammed with dates that I know longer need. I can tell you that my 5th grade teacher Mrs. Fowler's birthday is February 9th. She mentioned it once...more than 45 years ago. Do I love this woman?

Listen, you are leaving Phil behind. As unfathomable as this feels, it's a fact. You can't take him along with you. Your journey isn't complete but your time with him is.

And you say "only" 3 years. Try making a list of all the global changes, example, new president, economic climate that occurred since your husband is gone. Then, your personal choices and changes...did you move to a new place or buy a new TV, couch, car? Have you taken a trip these last few years? Are you dating? The grandchild that was saying "Mama" and "DaDa" now can show you how to work the remote.

All you did was forget a date on the calendar, not your life together. Little by little we leave them behind, Penny. We have to. But, until we're senile and our kids come to visit and we ask, "Who are these people who keep calling me Mom?" he'll remain a part of us.

Memories do fade. Still, in the story of our life, he will be the one who played the biggest role.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #15 Why Do I Blog?

Dear Carol,

I've been following your blog and although I see you seem to help some people I don't understand how you bloggers put so much personal information out there for all the world to see.

I am a private person and I like it that way. I don't need to air my dirty laundry in public.
Why do you?

I am sorry for your loss, but we all lose people and don't have the need to display our feelings
on a billboard.

Fed up with Bloggers,
Vicky

Dear Fed Up With Bloggers Vicky,

Why do I blog? Why do you read it? My entries are "dirty laundry?" You oughta see the filthy laundry I don't include here.

If you notice I rarely write about my kids. I never breach their confidence. I did enough of that while they were growing up. Read their diary? Sure. How else was I supposed to know where they were hiding their pot?

If you think bloggers in general tell too much you're in the minority. Human beings need to connect to other human beings. This is why Facebook and Twitter is so popular.

In my case, I am a writer and when Jimmy died it was natural for me to write about my feelings. I put it out there on a blog because I knew I was able to express what other widows were feeling and weren't able put words to.

My friend Cathy Seitz lost her husband Howie about eight years before Jimmy. She was adamant that I write it all down. She was sorry that she hadn't.

One of the reasons she was sorry was because she felt she could have helped me more by going back, reading and remembering and letting me know that she related...specifically. How brave is that...to allow yourself to relive your pain for someone else?

I encourage other widows to keep a journal - private or public - which is basically what personal blogs are...an on line diary. (Boy parents have it easy today. No more rummaging through their kids drawers careful not to leave fingerprints)

It's invaluable for widows to be able to gage how different we feel from year to year, as we get closer to what grief counselors call "our new normal." What's that? Our normal life died with our husband and we are constantly trying to get comfortable with our "new normal" life.

My readers have watched me struggle to find my new normal and now three years later, for the most part, I believe I have. Vicky, this has to offer hope and be healing for others.

Funny, just last night I caught an episode of William Shatner's Raw Nerve and his guest was
Fran Drescher (who I met last year at the Friars Club and couldn't have been nicer and more genuine)

Anyway, she mentioned her book "Cancer Schmancer" about her having stage 1 uterine cancer undergoing a radical hysterectomy and her experiences with misdiagnosis. William Shattner asked her why she would put her personal stuff out there. (although, Vicky, he asked her a lot more kindly than you asked me)

Her answer blew me away. She said, "I needed to make sense of the senseless. As human beings we have an obligation to turn pain into purpose."

This is why I blog, Vicky.

That and when people ask me how I'm doing - I can take the lazy way out and just say, "Read my blog."

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #14 Grief Trumping

Dear Carol,

My neighbor, Georgia lost her husband almost a year to the day that my Frank died. It's been a year for her and two years for me. She acts like I don't understand.

We walk our dogs together twice a day and the dogs get along better than we do. You'd think we'd have some common ground here, but she has to be more upset, more lonely, was more in love - I can't stand it.

Please tell me what I can do or say to her to let her know that yes, my grief has subsided more, but I am still not okay or adjusted to this new life.

Poor & Poorer Widow Me,
Carolyne

Dear Poor & Poorer Widow Me,
Carolyne,

Some people are just hell-bent on outdoing others in every phase of life. When they suffer a loss they "grief trump."

Unlike the other stages of grief: shock and denial, confusion, emotional release, anger, guilt, depression, isolation and recovery - grief trumping is a stage that may never end. "Ahhhhhhhhh" - you say?

The other stages pass because life steps in and pulls us up and out. Healthy people choose pleasure over pain. Grief trumping is only a pain to others. Georgia is enjoying being #1 at something. Where's her initiative to give it up?

I'm sure that when someone says "I'm cold" she is suddenly "freezing." To "I'm hungry" she replies "I'm starving."

A great philosopher never said but should have:

HOW PNEUMONIA WAS DISCOVERED

One cave man chipped away at his cave "I have a cold." The other banged out "I have a bad cold." A very was added and a few very's later: Bam. Pneumonia.

MY THEORY ON QUADRUPLE BYPASS SURGERY


Fred had to have bypass surgery. Not to be out done, his friend Ed had double bypass. Lou had triple and Stu decided to invent quadruple. This is basically
the same idea as pneumonia but with rhyming names.

I remember mentioning my theories to Jimmy and he said, "Could you get me a glass of ice water?" We often had these deep discussions.

And, so Carolyne, it seems that Georgia is just one of those people who has to have it the worst. My advice to you is to ask her for her help. For instance, during one of your walks say,

"You know, Georgia, you've been through so much. This last week I haven't been able to sleep much. (make sure you don't say how many hours or she'll start a number game on you) I know you must have problems sleeping. How do you help yourself?"

This will make her start feeling superior about the solutions and not the problems. And, you may get good advice, too...just like you do from poor widow me.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #13 I'm The Devil

Carol -

You're the DEVIL!

You granted Craig forgiveness for hating taking care of his wife? Have you ever heard of "In sickness and in health?" It's okay in your nasty world to smack your husband with his sick bell?

My husband Teddy was ill for 19 months and 6 days and I never complained. I wish he were here in any shape or form - alive.

I never wanted to be in a bereavement group because those groups are just like you - evil, selfish widows encouraging each other to just trot off into the sunset leaving their poor (yes...the sick one is poor, not the widows) husbands to suffer.

Think before you speak.

Proud Widow
Madeline

Proud Widow Madeline,

Some human beings are emotionally healthy and others like you, are obviously deranged and have no clue what it means to be honest, self aware and human.

Here's a little story that I know you won't find funny.

A man is in an horrific accident and the doctor calls his wife in to discuss his condition. The doctor says,

"Your husband will be incapable of doing anything for himself for the rest of his life. You will have to wash him and feed him and change him. His heart is strong and it's likely he'll live many many years."

The wife sits in shock.

The doctor says, "Just kidding. He's dead."

PWM,
Carol

Please visit: Youthefilm.com

My Widow Advice #12 Poor Widower Him

Hi Everyone,

Before I enter today's letter let me tell you about a film that's opening at the end of this month. After watching the promo on their website I was taken. http://www.youthefilm.com/

The name of the movie is "You" - about how a young father copes with the loss of his wife, raises their daughter...just take a look...it's presented beautifully.

Today's letter is in this spirit, although not quite as sweet -

Dear Carol,

I'm a widower. It's been two years now and according to statistics I should have remarried by now. Hard to do. I took care of my wife for four long difficult years.

I have a small confession to make and since this is anonymous I feel I can tell it here. I loved my wife, but I hated her sometimes. I hated cleaning her and a couple of times I told her that. She cried and I felt bad, but I still walked away until it blew over.

I felt that she was sucking the life out of me. After work sometimes a bunch of guys and gals would go out and I did sometimes and I felt guilty. I could never enjoy myself. I resented her for it. I wanted a wife, not a patient.

This is what I couldn't say in the bereavement group I was in. I was worried about what the women would think of me. They all made me feel like I did a great job so I acted like I was Marilyn's knight in shining armor.

I was by her side when she died, but I still feel I let her down. It feels good to confess this to someone finally. There is one other man in the group and he acted real loving like me so I'm not sure if it was an act or what.

We were married 11 years total. We had no kids. I'd like to have a family one day. I'm only 41 years old. Thanks for letting me blow off this steam.

Very truly yours,
Poor Widower Me, Craig


Dear Poor Widower Me, Craig,

Honest and real - real and honest. Thank you. Not to put down your group leader, but she should have done or said something to you and the other man in the group to make the enviroment safe enough for you guys to be more open.

A one-on-one bereavement therapist may be a good fit for you now. Two years later, you have some distance and perspective and no one to listen in and judge. Just don't go to my old shrink, Mean Jean. She'll make you cry like you made your wife cry...oops, sorry, Craig.

Anyway, if writing to me made you feel good it made me feel even better. I was in a group with three men who had wives who were sick for years, like Marilyn. They told their story with what I thought was genuine love and compassion and selflessness - the endless doctor appointments,
hospitalizations- well, I don't have to tell you.

What got me was that none of the men tacked on "Poor me." Just having to listen to it I was feeling "Poor me." With pride they'd announce "I was her sole caretaker."

I remember thinking that these men must be from another planet. My husband was a wonderful, generous and loving man, but a nuturer he wasn't. Lucky for the both of us that in
33 years I rarely got sick. The handful of times I did he's say,

"Come on. You can't still be sick." And, that was after a day and a half.

I remember I left that group ready to run home and start a fight with him.

If Jimmy had to take care of me for four years like you took care of Marilyn within the first month he'd be smacking me over the head with the sick bell.

Several years ago I had liposuction and was forced to wear a long tight girdle. He'd complain,
"How are we going to have sex with that thing on?"

In the group, I wondered about the sex. Too weak to walk? Well...then...how? Maybe, my husband was a maniac. Is twice a day excessive? (yes, I'm kidding).

I won't ask you. (even though, if you excuse the expression, I'm dying to) It's none of my business. I just hope you're making up for lost time.

Craig, give yourself a break. It had to be hell for you. Jimmy was sick for barely a month. Four years? I probably would have been smacking him in the head with the sick bell, too.

Find yourself a healthy woman with good genes and who looks both ways when she crosses the street. Then go and have yourself the family and the life you deserve.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #11 Did They Expect Their Husbands Would Live FOREVER?

Dear Carol,

My husband was 59 when he died four months ago. He would have been 60 this month. All my friends are celebrating their husband's 60th and I feel so cheated and cheated for him.

Worse than that, so many have parents who are alive at 85 and 90 and are just losing their spouse now after a million years together. I just don't have the patience to listen to all this
grieving over people who have already outlived their life expectancy.

DID THEY EXPECT THEIR HUSBANDS WOULD LIVE FOREVER?
At least they had a good long run.

Steve and I were married 35 years but I expected at least to make it to our 50th. We both only would have been 74.

Please help me to get rid of these awful bitter feelings. I am normally not an envious person and I don't want to become one. I want to give a good example to my children. (two grown sons)

I like to play cards, but I'm not much for groups.

Poor Widow Me,
Barbara

Dear Poor Widow Me, Barbara,

It sucks. I know. It's natural at four months for you to feel envious. Life is continuing on normally for everybody else in your circle. They're still here.

It's like the stork that brought Steve to earth as a baby has picked him up and flown away with him. (I don't believe in the stork. That was just an example.)

I felt that way about Jimmy for a long time. Every so often, even now, after three years, when there is a big gathering and he is the obvious gap, I still fill up with resentment. I feel it for me, and for him, and for my kids. (okay, mostly for me.) As time goes on in some ways it feels even more unfair because we've all lived that much longer.

The only way I know to ease that bitterness is to be grateful. We must be grateful for the happy years we had and remind ourselves that happiness can't be measured by time. Still, I had 33 years and you had 35. Those are nice long runs, Barbara.

I hear you - you're not into groups and I'm not either, but my old folks bereavement group taught me a thing or two. Here are just two widow stories from the group.

I listened to Gloria tell the group that her husband was 90 when he died. She seemed shocked.
I admit I repressed a laugh. Was it a nervous laugh or a mean laugh? Probably a little bit of both. They were married for 60 years, longer than our husband's lived. Right, Barbara?

I sat there and observed. Once I decided to be mature, to be respectful, her face revealed honest bewiderment beyond her grief. In a flash, it was clear to me that she honestly did expect him to live forever.

Maybe 'forever' begins to feel possible when your loved one has lived a long life, riding the bumps and beating the odds along the way. It's nearly impossible to accept that someone who has been in our lives for all of our lives isn't anymore. I learned that this day. People often feel this way when they lose their elderly parents.

Oh, and their daughter. Gloria and her husband lost a grown daughter...more than just a bump.

Group member Beverly touched me the most because she was pretty. I know that sounds shallow, but attractive people often escape life's dark clouds so when they get slammed it's a bigger shock to their system. Just my own philosophy.

She was in her late seventies, petite and fit like a golfer. Her day time wear would include a visor and a strap on (water bottle). I could easily picture her and her husband Harold (married 56 years) jumping up to be the first ones to dance at a wedding.

Everyone would comment how cute they were until they hogged the dance floor with their over practiced renditons of the Cha-Cha and the Lindy. Then, the crowd turns on them.

Anyway, like Gloria, she also expected they'd be dancing forever. A month after they sold their home and moved into a 55 and older community Harold died suddenly from a heart attack. Beverly shook her head, still unbelieving it as she told the group.

"Now, I'm all alone in an unfamiliar place and it's all couples."

Beverly's plan for the future was shattered and there was no running back to her familiar surroundings. Even my hard heart broke for her although it did occur to me,

"At least she still has her looks."

It's never easy to loose your spouse, Barbara. These women genuinely loved their wrinkled old men, the husband they had shared more than half a century with and they probably grew to depend on one another even more in the later years.

And, unlike younger widows like us, there's no dating on their horizon. However, I remember one day not too long ago as I stood on line in the supermarket a couple well into their seventies were laughing and just being silly together. I don't know why, but I asked them how long they'd been married.

She gently touched his face and said, "Three years, dear."

"Good for them" ought to be our mantra. (Don't chant it or anything...I mean the attitude) Let's choose to be gracious and open hearted. Life leads us through storms and then spins us around to face a breathtaking sunset.

You'll get there. It takes time to appreciate our lives and hopefully we have a few years on the old folks to get it right.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #10 Are Widows Contagious?

Dear Carol,

I am a group leader for a bereavement group and a follower of your blog. At first, I was skeptical and concerned about you giving advice to very vulnerable women and men. But you have proven yourself to be healing to widows and widowers.

They say laughter is the best medicine and I'm not a funny person. FYI - I am going to incorporate some of your writings into my format, either by me reading one aloud or passing a ditto (do they use that term anymore?) for a take home page.

I've been running groups for eleven years and have been a widow myself for seven and I know it shouldn't matter professionally, but I feel that I've become a far better leader/facilitator since I lost my husband.

For widows seeking a bereavement group please tell your readers to ask a potential group leader if she is a widow. The empathy will abound.

Thank you for doing such good work.

Sincerely,
Ruth, Group Leader

Dear Ruth, Group Leader,

WOW (which is MOM upside down) I am very impressed with myself that you, a professional has given me the thumbs up. I normally don't mesh well with authority figures. I come from a long line of people with attitude problems and I'm a direct decedent of ancestors not living up
to their potential.

I certainly appreciate you taking the time to write to me. Thanks! Interesting that you feel you're a better facilitator since you've lost your husband. As you suggest, of course there is the empathy factor.

But you say to look for a bereavement leader who is a widow? I have yet to find one who is not a widow. I have a little theory about that.

MY THEORY ABOUT THAT

My one-on-one shrink Mean Jean was widowed at 43. She used to say, "Just like the hair club commercial says, I'm not just the president but a member as well." Like you, Mean Jean wasn't funny, either. (no offense)

It occurred to me that at the time her husband died she was already running groups and in private practice. Harriet, my first group leader was a widow for four years. And, my second bereavement group leader became a widow five years ago smack in the middle of her practice.

Could there be something in the air that these shrinks breathe in and bring home to their unsuspecting husbands? I don't mean to make you feel guilty or anything, Ruth, but just being
a scientist here.

Most people become active with causes after they are personally affected. Right? Think about
John Walsh, the cute guy in the black leather jacket who kind of looks like Steve Wynn...anyway he started "America's Most Wanted" after his son Adam was abducted.

It's a natural cause and effect. Could Harriet, Mean Jean and Annie and you have affected the cause?

I wonder if I'm on to something. You must admit 4 out of 4 is pretty suspicious. I'm tempted to do a more extensive survey to uncover how many bereavement shrinks who lost their husbands were in close proximity to widows. Wait...Wouldn't that be 100%? I guess my research should include which ones did not lose their husbands. Yes. That's more like it.

Perhaps, Ruth, you'd like to join forces with me in this research project? Much is at stake. If this gets out we widows may be forced to wear a gigantic W when in public places.

PWM
Carol

My Widow Advice #9 Chocolate Cake & Liver

Dear Carol,

I've read that you were in two bereavement groups. I think part of the reason you had an adverse reaction to them was that you had a preconceived attitude.

You must go to these gatherings with an open mind. No body is perfect and while it's nice to make friends that's not the purpose of groups.

A Good Group Experience
Terry

Dear A Good Group Experience Terry,

Your 'know it all' letter makes no sense. My last group experience was a parenting group thirty years ago. Comparing that to the bereavement groups is like chocolate cake to liver and guess which one is liver? I have no idea what makes you think I expected these experiences to be similar.

My daughter, Jackie was 18 months old when I joined the Mother's Center, an organization designed to ease young mother's isolation and to emphasis that we are all "good enough mothers." Fortunately, Susan Smith and Andrea Yates weren't members or the Mother's Center would have had to close it's doors.

Anyway, back then, we sat in a circle (that hasn't changed) worn out from chasing young children around and fighting with our husbands about how we didn't feel like having sex with him because the kid finally stopped hanging on our breast and fell asleep. The last thing we
needed was to listen to a grown man whine and then breast feed him and his scratchy mustache.

I did not join to make friends, although I did. The group members I hated the most were the perky ones. They would introduce themselves:

"Hi all! My name is Susie and I'm married to Brad and we have two wonderful children, Jason and Jennifer. I used to work in the deli, but now I'm a stay at home Mom and I love it!

I no longer get a discount on cold cuts, but I still get to make sandwiches in my very own kitchen! In my spare time, if I have any, that is ("snort-snort") I enjoy making placemats."

As expected and as you know, Terry, the bereavement group had a somewhat less bouncy atmosphere, which normally I would prefer, but true, I wasn't prepared for introductions like:

"I'm Eva. It's been six months. My husband Charlie wasn't well for some time and the doctors put him through all kinds of tests and when pancreatic cancer was discovered we knew he would
have to have chemo. He lost so much weight and was really really weak, although he managed to come to our son's wedding but he wasn't strong enough to dance. His mother told me...wait, I'm sorry, am I talking too much?"

"YES, Eva, stop! I said to myself. The group leader told her, "Please go on. That's why we're here."

Is that why we're here? I remember thinking. To hear horrible stories? There are no happy endings here. Soon it will be my turn to tell my horrible story. How will I do that? I'm not even convinced it really happened.

So, Terry, yes. I was unprepared for all the pain. I couldn't deal with so much disclosure and had difficulty revealing myself. I'm not a good group member like you are, but at least I'm not a bitch.

PWM
Carol

My Widow Advice #8 What Do Widows Talk About?

Dear Carol,

I've had a very positive bereavement group experience. My group was comprised of wonderful, strong supportive women who I just knew after the first meeting would be my friends. (not all of them, of course - but four of us have formed a bond.

After the tenth and last session we decided to continue meeting once a week casually for dinner. That was such a huge success and since we are all in our sixties and retired we began doing more activities together.

We all live on Long Island so we go into the city for a matinee on Wednesdays and sometimes on the weekends and we often have each other at our homes for occasions.

My problem is that this has been going on for several months and two of my old friends who are not widowed are jealous. They complain I don't have time for them anymore and are constantly saying that there is nothing more important than old friends.

I've been widowed for just over a year now and while I love my old friends and appreciate that they've been here for me I feel like a fifth wheel around couples.

Shouldn't they understand and be happy for me after all I've been through?

Keeping Company With Other Widows,
Sue


Dear Keeping Company With Other Widows Sue,

Women are so petty. A while back I acccused my mother-in-law Fanny of being petty and luckily she's fairly deaf - so to avoid a confrontation I switched it quickly to "pretty." She didn't buy it, but that's another story.

It's refreshing to hear that you found other widows in your bereavement group who can be your friends outside of the group. While the group was going on your group dynamics must have been incredible since the personal caring was in place, too.

Personally, if I had had to depend on my fellow group members to socialize with I would have become a hermit. I would have had to become my own best friend...but to quote me as Dr. Friendship "If you're your own best friend you need to get out more."

And, now here you are with two jealous friends behaving like Junior High School. Women, no matter what their ages are only a gin and tonic away from being 14 year old girls.

My advice to you is to sit down with your old friends, smile and say, "I love you and I need you in my life, but look how my life has changed." Then, hand them a list titled "This Is What Widows Talk About."

Write back to me when you have a moment and send me the list so I can share it with my readers. Thanks, Sue.

PWM,
Carol P.S. Just wait until you start dating and you have to explain to the widows
what a man gives you that they can't.
Please send me that list too, a detailed list, spare nothing, thanks in advance.

My Widow Advice #7 Emily Post?

Dear Carol,

God forgive me - I must admit that you give me a lift and even a chuckle every now and then.

That said, your last response (#6 to Laura) was in very poor taste. She was annoyed and disgusted that all the women in her group were flirting with the one man. At first you showed much insight. You told her that perhaps it wasn't flirting that the women were doing. It was giving him attention because they yearn to pamper a man again.

This is so true in my case, but when I think of pampering I think of getting my Joe a cup of tea, not a ...a BJ. Do they even let you talk about such things on blogs?

This time you went too far.

Best Wishes,
Emily

Dear Emily,

Is your last name "Post" the etiquette expert? I chose to publish your e-mail rather than the ton of positive ones I received because I wanted to be fair and show that not everyone loved my response.

Let's be frank (Who's Frank?) Would your Joe prefer a hot cup of tea or a blow job? I know Jimmy loved Cherry Vanilla ice-cream, but if even if the spoon was to his lips and I gave him the "signal" the ice-cream would be soup abandoned in the dish.

You remind me a bit of Fanny, my mother-in-law. Her husband died over 25 years ago when she was 65 and after about 10 years she told me she had a dream, but not really a dream.

She said that her late husband "visited" her in the middle of the night to "you know what." She actually told me that she turned him away by saying, "Not tonight, Charlie."

The poor man came back for that "One more time" and she's too sleepy. Fanny hasn't see him since.

Hey, Emily, have you seen Joe, lately?

Carol
PWM

My Widow Advice #6 - Poor Widower Joseph

Dear Carol,

I am at my wits end. I joined a local bereavement group in my town of Bethesda, Maryland and there is one man and nine women including me.

I lost my husband Stan only four months ago and the last thing I want and need in my life is a man. I am still grieving for gosh sakes!

All of the women except for me and Cynthia are being so blatant and obvious flirting and carrying on with this poor widower, Joseph. I find it extremely pathetic and distasteful.

I told our group leader to do something and she just waved me off and laughed. Isn't this unprofessional of her? Should I say something again to her or talk with the women and tell them that they are making fools of themselves?

We are all in our early to mid-seventies.

Disgusted Widow,
Laura

Dear Disgusted Widow Laura,

The one thing you don't mention is how Joseph is responding to all this attention. That should be the only concern. I don't know your group leader, but most are responsible and sensitive and have seen it all.

My evil bereavement shrink Gene shared with me many a story about how quickly men "recover" and how needy they are for a woman. Statistic show that widowers remarry on average 2 years after the death of their wives while widows wait 5 years.

I'm sure she figures if this man is uncomfortable he wouldn't be coming back each week. After all, outside of this group Joseph would have to travel to Florida to find 9-1 odds. It's commonplace there for elderly women to elbow each other as they drop off a tasty casserole to the poor widower. All compete to win the prize - a man who drives at night.

If good old Joe is like most men I'll bet he fantasizes all week about having sex with every woman in the room. (you included) He probably has a little blue pill with him 'just in case' like our sons carry condoms.

Consider, too, that you may be mistaking flirting for nurturing. Many widows miss the daily sweet gestures we did for our husbands. Even me, a certified take-out queen enjoys cooking for my kids and friends and now an occasional man.

This brings to mind a conversation I had with my nephew Chuck about four months after his uncle died.

Chuck sat in my kitchen reminiscing about how my husband loved a good back rub from him. Jimmy would lean over and yell "Blood blood!" Of course, this meant "Help me get the kinks out."

Chuck said, "I could barely pass his chair without him asking me to give him a massage. I always did, but I didn't always want to."

I nodded.

"He was so demanding" Chuck continued. "But now if I could do it just one more time..."

"I know what you mean," I said. "I feel the same way about the blow jobs."

Lighten up, Laura.

PWM,
Carol

My Widow Advice #5 Helping Others Helps You

Before I launch into today's letter I want to alert you to a wonderful site that came to my attention http://www.ilasting.com/. It's a quiet, reflective and respectful place to post photos and videos and memory notes to loved ones.

I'm changing my list of 'favorites' and adding this one and others that reflect the spirit of this blog. Take a moment and click on to it. NOT NOW! I"M STILL TALKING HERE!

...About memorial photos. I had the dumbest thought. As it approaches the third anniversary of Jimmy's death on April 13th I wanted to buy space in Newsday with a photo and a few words as I did for year one and two.

However, I thought "I don't want to go with the same photo. I'll use an updated one." Duh...

Dear Carol,

I just got home from my very first bereavement group. I thought it would make me feel better, but listening to every one's horrible story made me feel worse, like I was a loser.

I don't want to be in this club and I don't want to go back. My friends tell me to give it another try. What do you think?

Just some background - My husband, Mike was killed 7 months ago in a car accident and he lingered for 8 days. We were married for 14 years and have no children. I am 50 years old as was Mike.

I don't know if my situation is considered sudden. I had some time for it to "sink in" not like poor Liam Neeson, but I still don't feel comfortable talking about it to strangers.

I don't intend to sound like a snob or anything, but the people were barely functioning and from what I saw I wanted to slap them. Don't get me wrong. I have my bad days, but I haven't lost my ability to laugh. They seem to have. This is why I like your blog so much. You tell it like it is.

A Private Person,
Addie

Dear Private Person Addie,

You've said so much in one e-mail. Let me break it down. According to the experts 7 months is an ideal time to be in a group. They say between 3 months and 13 months. Their reasoning is that before three months it is practically impossible for widows to focus long enough to hear what others are saying so what's the point of sitting there all foggy?

You don't say how long the other members of the group have been widowed. It could be that your fog has lifted somewhat and they are still in the center of that awful cloud. That may explain their appearance of "barely functioning."

I don't know what the definition of "sudden" is, but my evil shrink Gene told me that Jimmy's death could be considered sudden and he was sick for one month. Of course, she was dealing with me, a person who was continually saying,

"How did this happen? He was fine and then he wasn't."

Talk about not sinking in...it was me and high school Algebra all over again.

Groups of any kind are not for everyone and it maybe they're not for you. I joined two and stayed for three sessions each. I guess you might say I officially failed bereavement groups. I was eager for the experience because when I went out with friends in an hour or so I would use up my social energy. My close friends saw it in my face and movements.

"You've had it, haven't you?" They'd say. I would nod not understanding what I was feeling. I just had to go home, but I wasn't comfortable there alone, either. Why not stay out with friends who love me? I'd think to myself. It doesn't make sense, this widowhood.

I joined a group to be with others who were feeling the same. That's the pull, Addie. I needed a nod of clear understanding from those who walk in my shoes. (not literally)

And, speaking of shoes, (literally) I was able to notice that several women in the group were wearing ugly shoes. Trading tragedies one moment and then slipping into sarcasm and laughter is human.

It's wonderful that you recognize this in yourself. Many people can't bring themselves to see the funny, unless someone points it out...like ME.

After all is said and done, grieving is not an inherent state. Our minds and our hearts operate on different frequencies.

You would be a valuable group member. Go back another time. Don't slap them though. Just tickle them gently with humor.

My Widow Advice #4 It IS a Wonderful Life

Dear Readers,

I realize that the topic for this letter is out of step with the season. Spring is a breath away and here I am talking about Christmas. Just switch it in your mind to Easter/Passover so you don't panic and think,

"Damn, was I in a coma and I slept through a few seasons? I hate when that happens."

Yesterday I answered this letter for a sample chapter about holidays and anniversaries to show to my possible publisher tomorrow. I'm too lazy to write a new one for the blog - so here it is.

Also, I'm a teeny bit concerned that my response might be a teeny bit frivilous - My mood dictates my answers. I wrote this wearing my dalmation slippers - the ones I bought to lift my spirits. They may have done TOO good a job.

Please let me know if you think I answered Marion J. in a responsible way. Naturally, I want to be entertaining but it's important that these people who bother to write to me feel somewhat satisfied.

Thanks again for reading - there are so many blogs out there now to read and you chose me...wow...I feel like Sally Fields.

Dear Carol,

This is the second Christmas that I'll be alone. My beloved Fred passed in October two years ago and my son Charlie and his wife and their daughter live in Hawaii.

Last year was horrible. I sat in front of the television eating soggy pizza and watching "It's a Wonderful Life." I was resentful that Fred died on me and left me alone. At 67 my life certainly didn't feel wonderful.

This year my son offered to send me a plane ticket to come to spend Christmas with them, but I am afraid to make that long trip alone. (I live in New Jersey)

I wish they would come to me. I should have had more children. Fred was from a big family and wanted to dote on his only son. Now, Charlie is far away and I'm alone.

Any suggestions to make the holidays more bearable for me?

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (not for me)

Marion J.

Dear Marion J.

I counted - you used the word 'alone' four times in your short e-mail to me. I worry that the way you describe yourself is who you'll become. Granted, technically you are alone, but perhaps I can find a more uplifting word.

Hmmmm...after checking www.dictionary.com under the thesaurus it turns out that 'alone' is far more uplifting than it's counterparts. Here are the words they say have the same meaning:
abandoned - by oneself - companionless - deserted - desolate - detached - forlorn - forsaken - friendless - hermit - lonely - single - solo - stag - solitary - traveling light - unattached and ironically - 'widowed'.

I laughed out loud at 'deserted' and 'friendless' but that's just me. It seems another approach is needed for you.

My instinct is to tell you to suck it up and fly over to Hawaii to be with your family. However, the last time I followed my instinct I polished off an entire half gallon of vanilla fudge ice-cream and believe me, it wasn't pretty. My instincts are far better for others, though. I rarely recommend that a widow gorge herself.

You are fearful to fly without a companion and this is understandable. When I am faced with my fear - quicksand - I ask myself, 'Can I wake myself up from this terrible nightmare? and 'What is the worst thing that could happen?' In your case stepping on to a plane will not pull you in never to be seen again unless you fly over the Bermuda Triangle.

You don't say who you and Fred celebrated with all the years before he died. If you invited family and friends to your home for past holidays why not call them and invite them for this year? If it's too much for you then ask them to each bring a dish. (filled with food)

People are aware how isolating widowhood can be during the holidays and they may send a card, but they stay away. Our very presence is a frightening reminder of how fragile life is. This is why sometimes we must be the ones to reach out.

It's impossible to invite yourself, yet if you extend an invitation they may say,

"John and I were just about to call you."

Yes, they will be lying, but with that invitation in your back pocket (not literally) you can confess that being a hostess is overwheming for you this year. Tell them you'd be thrilled to accept what we know is their gracious yet empty gesture.

If you're uncomfortable with any of these suggestions my final thought is: how about you celebrate with my family and I take your ticket to Hawaii?

Try to make the best of it...It IS a wonderful life...

Carol - Poor Widow Me

My Widow Advice #3 Balance Sheets Don't Have a Thread Count

Dear Carol,
I love your new format and could hardly wait to write to you. I hope you print this or write back privately.

I am overwhelmed with paper. They come in the form of bills, legal papers to sign and lawyer bills. My kitchen table is so covered I need to clear a space when I put my plate down to eat.

I wish I had been more aware of our finances. Bill felt he was protecting me by handling everything himself. He died suddenly six months ago and now I am a mess.

My son is only sixteen and can't really help me. I've turned to John, my sister's husband for advice and also Bill's best friend, Pete and even though they are patient with me I just can't seem to concentrate and understand what they are explaining. I feel like I am imposing and can't ask again.

I am not a stupid woman. I am a high school Social Studies teacher. I just feel like my brain has melted. What is happening me?

Feeling Stupid Sue

Dear Feeling Stupid Sue,
I noticed that you used the word 'stupid' twice and also in your 'sign off.' Being a Social Studies teacher probably means you're smarter than you're giving yourself credit for.

On the other hand, I remember my 10th grade Social Studies teacher, Mrs. Birmingham smelled, drifted off to sleep at her desk and she only wore two outfits - a red dress and a black dress. She alternated. I suppose she still could have been intelligent, just tired with a limited wardrobe that she never dry cleaned.

Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with your inability to understand your finances. You are smack in the middle of your grieving process. Bill is gone only six months. I'm sure that you're foggy about everything even in the areas you were confident and sharp about before your husband died.

As long as your I.Q. is more than double digits I guarantee time itself will lift your fog. Paying bills and understanding lawyerese may never be your strong suit but one day you'll wake up and similiar to suddenly needing your hair trimmed, you will discover that what was virtually a mystery to you is clear.

I used to be pampered and clueless about money. Jimmy would joke that I assume I have money in my checking account because I have checks left. After he died, my good friend and accountant, Gary patiently explained to me that a balance sheet does not have a thread count. I told him I knew that but I don't think he believed me.

Bill shielded you from all things financial as long as you both shall live and today you are helpless to decipher the endless piles of papers. You'll learn as I did, but I deeply regret that I didn't stay awake during Jimmy's long explanations of his business transactions.

Fortunately, many of the papers you need to sign and understand are specific to losing a spouse. When the estate is settled your responsibilites as exectutrix will end, too.

In my case, it took more than two years. But, now I can see my dining room table. Happy will be the day when you can discard your tax attorneys along with their inflated invoices and egos.

Wrestling with finances, especially with this stormy economic climate will be a constant in our lives, yet as life continues our expenses will be more predictable.

Sue, believe me, I know it's not easy to be left with bank statements that need translation. And, mixed with confusion is resentment. Now we are forced to grow up and learn how the real world works. Some would say, "It's about time." (not to our face, of course)

I'm concerned that you are self concious and hesitate to ask your brother-in-law, John and Bill's best friend, Pete for more help. They, too loved your husband and they are good men who want to pull together with you. They want you to carry on to live the way Bill would want you to live. Let them in.

I still lean on Jimmy's buddies, Henry and Trifon and others. It's made us closer. Let your son see that you are the grown up and can handle yourself. Gene, my evil bereavement shrink said,

"Think of your family in a boat. The captain has fallen overboard. If there is a son in the family often he grabs for the wheel. YOU be the one to take the helm and gently steer."

My son, Doug respected me enough to allow me to sift through the muddle. He helped, but his expectations of me drove me to expect more from myself.

Life has dealt you a crummy hand. Try to take it as an opportunity to grow.

Time is your best friend, Sue.

My Widow Advice #2 - Out of the Closet

Dear Carol,

I'm so grateful I found your blog. I enjoy your wit and disclosure so much. It reminds me that all that I'm feeling is "normal."

This Sunday, February 22nd wil be exactly one year since Bob passed on. He was ill for nearly two years and I don't need to get into the heartache that it caused me and our two girls (now ages 17 and 19) Bob was only 49.

I'm writing about his clothes. Friends tell me "it's time" to clean out the closet and "get rid of his stuff." I'm almost ready, but I feel that they are pressuring me. In some ways I like going into "our" closet and seeing and smelling his things near mine.

Another thing that holds me back is the practical. I really don't know what to do with Bob's shirts and ties and pants, etc. Everyone says "Donate them" but donate them where?

Thanks again for helping me to smile again.

Judith (Poor Widow Me, too)

Dear Judith (Poor Widow Me, too)

The clothes, the closet, is a tough one. Granted, your friends mean well. They want you to "move on" but I'll bet that none of them are widows.

For the first year and a half I'd walk into the closet we shared when I wanted to have a heart to heart with Jimmy. There, surrounded by his shirts ad slacks and shoes I was with him. It was far more convenient than driving to the cemetery and it wasn't necessary to stop on the way to pick up flowers.

But seriously, we long for contact, probably more so when it's the death of a young child or a spouse. They've been so physically close to us that we ache for their touch again. This is the most human part of grief, the longing for a body that we know intimately.

Clothes bring us back to that body and the body back to us. Judith, you may be "almost ready" but you aren't there yet. It sounds like you the comfort of your husband's clothes to keep him close to you. I remember standing in the closet literally shaking my head to understand that my husband didn't exist anymore to fill out those clothes. That must be a process that we need to go through.

All these moments weren't tender and longing. I'd run my fingers along the leg of the pants that I bought him months before he got sick. I'd eye the unfinished edge. He never bothered to shorten them. I'd relive how that infuriated me. His reponse made me even madder.

"I'll do it. I'll do it. Just leave me alone about it," he'd say annoyed at me.

I'd see shirts I gave him for Christmas never tried on.

"You're were so ungracious," I'd yell to the air after he died. "It was no fun to buy you stuff." Was he in the closet hearing me?

Some days I would chastise myself. Why did that still make me so angry? It's only stupid clothes and now he's not here to wear them. Other days the memory of him allowing to be so frustrated propelled me out of the closet. I'd slam the door behind me. Visit's over.

"HA. If you had been nicer about trying on stuff on I'd miss you more" I'd scream to the air.

I was embarrassed when friends gently suggested "it's time" to "do the closet" - I'd joke that I could afford to be sentimental because I didn't need the closet space.

I guess it's pretty obvious, Judith, that I understand your need to hold unto Bob's clothes. We all have symbols. This one is ours.

In the first bereavement group that I failed, a widower named Dave told us that he threw away his wife's clothes the day after her funeral. I, silently nicknamed him "Brave Dave" because as you know, this is an unpopular move among the bereaved. I watched the others cover up their horror with phony reassurance.

"Whatever is good for you is the right thing," they chanted like Stepford Wives.

Poor Brave Dave - his wife was sick for four years and there was probably not a top or a pair of pants that didn't yell out to him, "Oh, this is what she wore when we picked up her first wheelchair...and here is the outfit she had on for her last round of chemo."

He needed to make his house healthy again.

So, when you are ready I have a wonderful suggestion, something I did. Hire a seamstress to make a memory quilt from all the most familiar items, shirts, polos, pants, etc. Each square of clothing is about four or five inches and you choose a backing that represents your husband, sports, or fishing, etc.

This enables you to begin weeding out what you will eventually give away (clothing bins are in every neighborhood) You will get rid of the major part of Bob's wardrobe but you are saving forever the pattern and material that you most associate with your husband.

I surprised my daughter and son with one for each of them the second Christmas, a year and eight months after their Dad died. They keep it draped over their couch and I 'm sure they snuggle up to it when they need to be close. Your daughters will love this and if they go away to school they can take it with them.

At first I was going to have one made for me, but then thought it was too morbid. I can always see it and touch it when I visit the kids.

And, time does pass. These days, when M comes over and we get cozy on the couch I see that it would be a bit freaky to notice,

"Hey, isn't your shirt the same as the square in the quilt?"

You're almost there, Judith. Wait until you're there completely. You'll know when.

Carol - PWM

My Widow Advice #1 - Everything Comes With An "Oy"

Hi Folks,
I've gotten dozens of e-mails telling me they are happy I am changing this to an advice column and they sent me questions I will print here each new entry. Here is the first one:

Dear Carol,

You are amazing and have helped me so much. I think an advice column for "Poor Widow Me" is a terrific idea. I've e-mailed you before and I may be of those too pathetic to print, but here goes:

My husband Phil was only 53 when he died of pancreatic cancer almost a year and a half ago. We were married 30 years and most of the time we were happy. My son is 29 and he tells me he dreams about his father several times a month.

My problem is that for a long time I never dreamt about Phil and I felt terrible about that. Suddenly, this week I've dreamt about him twice. It turns out I was happier before the dreams because these dreams were really nightmares.

They both had Phil being mean to me. The one that upset me the most was the one where he was dressed like Abraham Lincoln with the big black hat. He was criticizing the new sofa I bought. (in real life I did buy a sofa) He shook his finger at me scolding me.

I woke up as I was jumping up and down trying to knock the Abe Lincoln hat off his head. I know you're not a dream interpeter, but maybe you can help me not to care so much about these dreams. You always seem to have a funny spin on things.

Your friend,
Charlene, (Another Widow)

Dear Charlene, (Another Widow)

I'm glad you mentioned dreams to me because I, too, didn't dream of Jimmy until it was about 8 months and then again about 6 months ago two times. None of the dreams were pleasant. None of them made me feel...oooh, for a short time I feel like I have my Jimmy back.

When my friends asked me what my first dream was about I was reluctant to tell them. I was afraid it would make me sound angry and resentful. I told them anyway.

It was during a period when I was trying to sell Jimmy's limousine company. I was sitting in a theatre in a perfect seat, the center of row five or six from the stage. All of a sudden Jimmy appears and tells me I should move to where all his employees are sitting.

I didn't want to sit with them, but I listened to Jimmy and in the next scene I'm in a terrible seat seat all the way to the side and I'm straining to see the stage. In the dream I'm annoyed with myself that I listened to him.

My friend Richie laughed and said, "Here you are trying to distance yourself from those company people and even in your dreams you can't get away from them."

Boy, Charlene, was I relieved that he translated it that way. I took it to mean that I'm proud to be making decisions on my own and needing less and less imput from Jimmy.

Here you are having made a decision to buy a new sofa, normally something a couple would choose together. Good for you. In many ways it must have made you feel great. You're changing your enviroment, something I did, too...some widows move, others redecorate.

The point is I believe as our lives move forward we feel confusion that our grief is at odds with our growing sense of ourselves. It's not exactly guilt we feel, but something close to it.

For a spoiled brat of a wife like me who made dinner by calling for reservations little by little I saw lots of things my husband took care of are not all that complicated. I just never paid attention. No need.

As newscaster and snappy dresser Diane Sawyer said, "There's no subsitute for paying attention."

Lots of widows wrestle with feeling a sense of pride for each small personal triumph while it's colored with a sense of shame. It's normal. It's healthy as we begin to live in the world without the support of a husband.

You're no doubt feeling, "What would Phil think of this couch?

"What would Phil think of me spending the money to buy it?"

"How would Phil feel about me replacing the old one that has all the memories? (and stains)

Well, just wait when you start dating Charlene, and see how it feels to be feeling,

"What would Jimmy, er, I mean, Phil think about me sitting on this couch with another man?"

Anyway, I explained this weird combo of feelings to my friend Jade.

She got it and re-phrased it like this: "I understand, Carol," she said. "Everything comes with an oy."

Perfect!

Oh, by the way. I wouldn't be concerned about the Abe Lincoln get up. It must reflect all the stuff in the news about Lincoln/Obama. You've internalized it - just like if someone sticks your hand in water while you're sleeping - you'll pee in your bed.

Hope this helped. Best to you in 2009 - let me hear from you again.

Carol - PWM

Where Do I Go From Here?

You may have noticed I haven't written a new entry since "I Thought I'd Be More of a Slut."

Here's my dilemma. Where do I go from here? I've met someone. I'll call him "M" which is "W" upside down if you're dyslectic. I've taken myself out of the dating pool (I've never been much for swimming) to enjoy and see where this relationship goes.

Here's the hitch. I don't really want to take you along for the ride. And I don't want my children to be privy to my antics. Suddenly, I've found my privacy gene. Who would have thunk it?

More importantly, publicly sharing my life today, normal and natural as it is - is beginning to feel disrespectful to Jimmy's memory.

I've gotten away from the point of the blog which was to express the aftermath of widowhood from my very personal day to day living. Did I set this up to help other widows? Come on. Anyone who knows me knows I am way too self absorbed for that.

Writing forced me to pinpoint my exact feelings and it gave me clarity during an unimaginable unfocused and searingly painful period. Notice there are two ME's and a MY in that previous sentence. I told you - self absorbed.

Now, almost three years later, I'm in a new period and it's none of your %$*!%^business. Of course, I only mean that in a loving way.

But, and that's a big BUTT - from all the confusion and loss comes wisdom and son of a gun - a bit of grace. I believe I really do have something valuable to offer other widows. I have managed to hold onto myself. (not literally) I've lost my spouse without losing myself.

This is clear to me because my sense of humor is undoubtably what most defines me to me. That has remained in tact during some extremely dark days to boot. I'm seeing that I can inspire other widows to step outside of their comfort zone to find themselves again.

In the two bearevement groups I joined and failed and in my sessions with Gene, my evil shrink, I took away one phrase that rang right. Our lives will never be "normal" again, not in the way we knew it, but we must strive to find "the new normal."

Even doing familar things feels unfamiliar because we've been damaged. I know this only too well. But, time and the right attitude heals us. I can't do anything about the time. My name's not Ann Sullivan, the Miracle Worker, you know.

Yet, I believe I can champion other widows to choose a positive healing attitude. I can help them to accept their "new normal" by rediscovering their "old self."

After much thinking (so much so that my furried brow needs an extra shot of Botox) I'm going to turn this blog into an advice column for widows and widowers. It will be helpful and real and funny and entertaining.

Besides the comments displayed here I've gotten tons of e-mails throughout the life of this blog. They always tell me how much my blog has given them strength. Unfortunately, many of them are too pathetic to print.

So, please write to me and let me know what you think about the new format...which I haven't shown you yet (will begin it ASAP) and to the poor widows and poor widowers out there let me hear from you.

To e-mail me: click on "View My Complete Profile" above the orange "Health Maven" to find e-mail address. Thank you, as always for reading and allowing me a forum to shout from.

I Thought I'd Be More of a Slut

Here I am, a widow - three months short of three years and still no bedroom frolics. Are you surprised? No one is more shocked than I am. I though I'd be more of a slut.

Even when I was married and heard about women divorced or widowed waiting years for "the one" I hissed to myself...LOSER! Often I accompanied that with a mature gesture - my thumb and pointer making an L on my forehead.

Now I do it to myself in the mirror...the gesture, I mean.

It's not like I haven't had opportunities - remember 23 year old Hector? And, there have been others a bit older than him, (well, it's almost impossible by law to be younger) but still appealing enough to break the ice with, so to speak.

I never let it happen. Why? Why? and to show off my French "Pourquoi?" Well, one man was married...and I cooled learning this - after all I am Dr. Friendship and "the sisterhood" is all important. It certainly showed a lack of character on his part although, to be fair, his wife didn't "get him" - the poor boy...

Without the help of my ex-bereavement shrink, Gene, who would probably shrug and say,
"How am I supposed to know?" I realized that once I have sex with someone it breaks off my last bit of being married to Jimmy.

But, this realization came a month ago. In the meantime, something shifted. I'm very in tune to these shifts because they occur regularly in surprising moments of "Wait a minute...I don't need to hold onto his clothes anymore" or "It's not really relevant what Jimmy would have done...what should I do?"

So, here I am - having another "Wait a minute moment - I think I can be with another man and
not feel that disconnect with Jimmy...or I can feel it and it's time...

Applicants may apply.

Death vrs Divorce - The Final Verdict?

Many divorced people read this blog and say they can relate to it because after all,

"Divorce is just like a death."

This comment comes from my enthusiastic readers and I may be shooting myself in the foot (not literally) to quibble, but I must address it.

On the eve of the most profound and historic presidential inauguration in our country's lifetime I am struck with the reality that Jimmy is not alive to be aware of this monumental election.

Long sentence - simple thought. Basically, divorced people may not live in the same house with each other anymore but they continue to exist in the same world. Different TV's still report the same news. Same - same - same.

Unless Jimmy has been peeking over my shoulder while I read the newspaper he would not know the name Bernie Madoff. A bail out to him would mean a flood in the basement and even if word snuck up to heaven that a black man was our 44Th president - he'd assume it was Colin Powell.

Interviews with passengers of the Hudson River airplane accident revealed that instead of panic
everyone aboard was calm and helpful. Jimmy always said that under those circumstances people don't freak out...they chill. Well, if we were divorced you can bet that I would have gotten an "I told you so!" phone call from him.

No need to list all the personal changes in my friend's and family's life in the less than 3 years since Jimmy's been gone, but he and I can't share a burden or celebrate a milestone - even separately.

Please don't translate this as whining. The "not existing" part is just something I continue to have trouble with. Possibly, in a different way, yet just as painful would be fighting over who gets the end tables.

I can't imagine watching my husband grow the mustache I always nagged him to as he made himself marketable for other women. How would I deal with seeing his profile on match.com?

The friends who rally around me if given a choice would possibly choose Jimmy. Widows never have to face the fact that they may be the broken link in the circle of friends.

I have no clue what it feels like to be divorced. I used to tell Jimmy that if we were ever divorced and remarried to other people we could still have sex with each other. Our respective spouses should understand...we'll always belong to each other.

His comment was something like, "What are you nuts?"

He had a better handle on how bitter and angry and fed up he'd be with me if we were divorced. That always troubled me a bit. Anyway, it was nice to know he had more respect for his fictitious new wife than I did for my made up new husband.

I'm not sure if I proved that divorce and death are very different feelings. I may have. Lemme know. Perhaps, someone like Elizabeth Taylor is the one to ask. She divorced Richard Burton, then married him again and then he died...or were they divorced when he died? hmmmm?

All I know is divorce may be worse because I know plenty of divorced people who wish their spouse was dead. Actually, I know some married ones, too...

So?

Last night I laughed all night long. Should someone dial 911? Have I flipped? Nope, not yet, anyway...I had dinner with Kathleen, a relatively new friend I met at a writer's conference exactly a year after Jimmy died. She, too is writing a memoir.

We get together every so often (what exactly does that mean?) All right, a few times a year. Anyway, not to give away her age she was single for many years and now she's married for a few.

Much of her memoir is about her dating years. Now that I've entered that arena our conversation naturally moved in that direction - before we took our coats off.

"So?" Kathleen said. Then she sat and waited.

These days many don't bother with "Hello" - They launch right into "So?"

Obviously, the translation of "So?" is: "How's the dating going for you? Met anyone special? If not, lemme hear the crazy stories."

We both had lots to say about specific men we met on dating sites. But, without any alcohol consummed (impressed?) we pinpointed the inherent flaw of internet dating.

The Kathleen and Carol A-Ha Moment

Simply put...it's unnatural. No slow unravelling of ourselves to another. Our past, present and hopes for the future are either generically checked for all to see or there's a tiny space to write "favorite foods" - God forbid we have no room to write Italian - someone might say,

"She doesn't like Baked Ziti? What's wrong with her? Next..."

Internet dating misses the sensual air of mystery when we eye someone attractive at a party across a crowded room or notice a good looking guard as we empty our pockets for him when we visit our Mom in prison.

We read a man's profile. We see that he has x number of children, he's divorced, or never married, widowed...etc...Everyone is "Very Active" and since most people are blah it's amazing that all are consumed with so many hobbies.

He ski's - that old man? (Liar!) We discover he's either grateful for his Upper West Side condo or his kids. True or not the wise man chooses "kids"

We get a overflowing capsule of the man - not to mention photos of him dancing at his daughter's wedding to show himself off in a tux AND pose as Daddy to Daddy's little girl...smart move, Mister.

The next shot is him on a boat (we're supposed to assume is his) holding high the stupid goldfish he caught.

So, we know all this information about someone and now we meet him or talk on the phone. Kathleen and I had very different takes on how to converse normally to this sorta kinda unfamiliar potential "friend."

"So often I met someone for the first time and I had all this information about him in my head, but I had to pretend I didn't know he was a Virgo." Kathleen said.

"Oh, I said, "I panic thinking I should know all this or he'll think I didn't care enough to read his profile carefully. Sometimes I print it out and refer to it..." "Oh yes, John," I say, "I remember you wrote you love peaches."

"How does that work in person?" Kathleen laughs. "Do you bring notes?"

So, we laughed a lot. But, as I mentioned, Kathleen and I are fairly new friends. Gradually, we've gotten to know each other revealing here and there. And, that's why our friendship will stick. It's a natural getting to know you process.

Good thing we didn't meet on line.

Tony & Me

The snow is piling up. It's Saturday night. Must be a mad house for the movies...the ones who are brave enough to venture out.

Me? Well, I have my dog, Tony. True, Saturday night is not what it used to be. Friends are coupled off doing what they do...and I remember how it used to be.

I never used to eat alone and finish a bottle of Cabernet - the same one I started last night. I had a little head cold and it didn't taste right...but tonight - it's good and I drank the rest. The buzz made me talk out loud as I watched the snow fall from my front window. I held my Tony in my arms. He listened intently. He licked my face. He's the perfect man.

I remember how Mimi Scott, my partner in Manhattan Playwrights, Inc. insisted she hold the weekly meetings on Sunday. Our group met for 2 hours and I drove from Merrick, Long Island an hour each way to her apartment on the Upper West Side. I complained.

"Why Sunday? It's a family day."

She is 10 years older than me. She's a widow. She told me that Sunday is the loneliest day of the week. I understand now. Saturday night is no picnic, either.

I'm sorry, Mims...

Happily, Tony loves the snow. I put his little coat on and hooked his leash...He sneezed a few times. He sneezes when he's excited. I slipped on my snow boots and took my keys and my phone (in case I fell and hit my head and needed to let someone know I'm laying right on my block unable to move because I finished that bottle of Cabernet.)

Off we went - down the steps and free to romp in that white stuff still lightly adding to the one inch of accumulation. (some snowstorm) I put my hood up. That told me I'm not too drunk to NOT care about my hair. To not care about my hair...I'd have to be unconscious.

We ran. We lifted our leg...well, Tony lifted his leg. He did a number 2 and I covered it with snow. Am I a rebel? Jimmy hated the snow, the cold and so often said,

"Why are we living in a refrigerator?"

I was so grateful that Tony loves the snow. I told Jimmy.

" It's invigorating. The cold, the weather you can see...it makes you feel alive! What do you know about staying alive?"

No answer. Never an answer. I wiped off Tony's paws with a dry towel and we kinda sorta smiled at each other.

What a Charmer!

Granted, I haven't been out in the world for very long as a single woman, but I have been out in the world period. When Gene, my ex-bereavement shrink told me:

"Now, Carol, when you begin dating you will be emotionally at the age you were before
you were married."

I knew then that SHE needed a shrink. Come on. I was 15 when Jimmy and I met. I know I'm a bit on the immature side (I like to think "Playful") but 15?

Even with my limited dating experience I know I'm emotionally right on track for my age - which TODAY is exactly 58 and a half. Please, no cards or letters for my half birthday...

Yesterday I called a man from the dating site plenty of fish (good name, isn't it?) and our conversation PROVED to me that I am far more mature than 15.

He is a widower for almost 2 years and he's 54 years old. I printed out his profile and had it in front of me to give him the phony impression that I cared enough to remember his "fun facts."
Somehow, though, reading it I reversed his age and his height. I thought he was 57 years old and 5'4" tall. (or in this case 'short')

In my mind I was telling myself "Oh, my God - I'm talking to a midget. I like short men, but I don't want to be able to balance a drink on his head."

He was extremely chatty so he didn't notice I wasn't contributing a fake interest, like "Oh, really? I, too, need coffee in the morning to wake up. We have so much in common!"

When I realized that he wasn't a midget I told him my mistake and he didn't laugh. Could this be a RED flag? Oh, dear - or worse...maybe I AM immature! So what? Jimmy would have giggled...the big baby.

Anyway, he told me he had a "soft spot" (Viagra should cure that) for widows because he is a widower himself. However, he went on to tell me about all the "crazy widows" he's met (good empathy) and one he called a "disgruntled widow."

This woman's husband left her for another woman and then about a year later he died. We both wondered if that counted. Technically, I suppose it does although if Jimmy had left me for someone else we would have been divorced before the year was up.

And, here is the compliment that makes me believe that I am not as immature as Gene says I am. This man, with relief in his voice announced "You sound like a normal person."

There you have it. It's best we don't meet. He may change his mind.

Profile This!

On my profile page for dating services I had to choose...

1. dating

2. long term relationship

3. marriage

4. marriage and children

Children would be a miracle so that ruled out number 4. Looking for "marriage" sounds like I ought to present a resume. I'd be forced to divulge: Are my teeth all my own? Do I have mood swings? If so, are they controlled by medication?

Must I hand over a notorized letter of recommendation from my past employer? Wait, that would be my husband. Fortunately, he's unable to challenge the high marks I give myself in the only real category that counts - sex. Let's face it, all else is forgiven if your bedroom score is a ten.

I considered checking "long term relationship" but I don't want to be exclusive right out of the gate. I need to figure out who I am as a single woman and how it feels to be part of a couple again. Do I even know who would fit?

So, I circled "dating," But, what is dating? ... a chance to practice flirting - is batting your eyes still popular or will he think I have a twitch? Do I offer to split the bill with him?... an empty gesture and a deal breaker if he says yes.

I'm not the type to take long walks on the beach. Must I confess this? It's Winter. Hot tubs are noisy and overrated... it's like sitting in a huge toilet that's constantly flushing. I don't ski, play golf or like to go over 30 mph in a convertible.

I'm quite a catch. Call me.

Blabber Mouth

My hands are tied. (not literally) I want to tell you about a date I had, but I can't. I told him about this blog. I'm a blabber mouth. My stupid ego made me. How can I make fun of him now? He's not for me, but he is a sweet guy. I can't diss him when I know he's going to read it. Apparently, I have scrupples. Funny word...scrupples. Anyway, I have them so no jabs about him here.

I did meet someone on line who is fun and energetic and good-looking. I confessed in my profile that I'm addicted to Utz dark pretzels and he wrapped them up in Christmas wrapping and gave them to me at our first meeting last week. Nice, nice start. I'm seeing him again tomorrow night. He also knows about this blog...Hello Daniel!

Okay...that's it. No more about dating until I have something concrete to say. It did shock me and must report back to you that there are lots and lots of 50 something men out there who when asked if they want children answer, "Undecided."

Are they nuts? Well, they certainly aren't having them with me...my eggs are dead. Well, even if they were alive - that ship has passed.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day passed too. Now at holiday three without Jimmy it's more comfortable to entertain and celebrate with many of the same friends from "before." I strive to incorporate yesterday with today. Life moves along and and I float with it staying on course to the future while I peek back almost to ask permission.

The permission thing reminds me of my old (and fired) bereavement shrink, Gene. She told me that when a widow wants to remarry she goes to the cemetery to ask permission. I told her that made sense to me...and she said, "Really? Well, isn't it interesting that none of the husbands ever say "no."

Good one, Gene....but I still don't miss you.

Where Are All The Funny Guys?

Banter is everything to me. Funny banter. I say this. He says that. We collapse (not literally) in laughter. I took for granted that all couples do it - like sex. On both fronts I was wrong. (People confide in me...)

Laughing together is like making love with your clothes on. Jimmy and I spent a lifetime laughing. Early in our marriage I learned that pointing and laughing when your husband is nude is a no-no. Pointing is fine. Laughing is great. Undressed, the combo is a mood breaker.

Armed with that vital morsel of experience I am marching into the world. First I trotted out to the virtual world. Then, I progressed to talking on the phone. Can someone please tell me... where are all the funny guys?

I've talked to four perspective dates this week and maybe I need a new vitamin regiment, but the drone of their voices made me fight to stay awake. I know I'm a tough audience, but don't start a sentence by saying, "This is a funny story." It's not. Nine times out of ten it's a bedtime story.

I love the ones who say, "I have a great sense of humor." Should they have to announce it?

Guess what, Mr. Catskills, we've been on the phone for seven or eight minutes already. That humor should have surfaced by now.

"Do you keep a Kosher home?" is on the J-date form and according to my nephew Chuck, "If you keep Kosher you can't be funny." His theory is not mixing meat and dairy takes too much concentration and this causes you to be serious. Apparently, lack of pork in the home strips you of your funny bone.

On Saturday night I have a date with someone kosher. He's seems like a sweet man, a widower and I'm hoping it was his wife who insisted they keep their kitchen kosher. Maybe, he just needs someone to accidentally bring him a ham and cheese sandwich and plop it on his counter.

That ought to test his sense of humor.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

On line dating may not require hair and make-up but it's ridiculously time consuming. Scanning profiles and photos is like looking at a police line up, but instead of picking out the serial killer we hope to choose the cop.

The same man who in the future will probably sit silently on the couch refusing to "talk about it" relentlessly sends me messages, virtual roses and chocolates, all his phone numbers, his fax and e-mail address and the deed to his house.

They see I'm a comedy writer. They make feeble attempts at humor. 99% of the time humorless Charlie Rose is funnier.

They also lie. I called someone who claimed to be 61. We were on the phone less than five minutes when he confessed to being 68. They are always "Youthful and energetic" - "No one can believe my age" they all say. This is why they lie.

"Would you have called me if you knew I was 68?" he asks. "NO" I answered loudly.

It turns out his ex-wife is my age and graduated Jamaica High School the same year as I did. I probably know her. I wonder, was it the same woman who I saw two months ago at my 40th reunion ranting about her "asshole ex-husband?"

He refused to tell me her name. Not that I'm marrying him, but it would have been a time saver. Shelly Winters said, "When you are planning to marry someone go to lunch with his ex-wife."

The same "catches" pop up on the other sites, too and not to be paranoid, in one instance I felt I was being virtually stalked. YESTERDAY I joined Jdate and someone from Plenty of Fish or was it e-harmony?... instant messaged me TODAY.

I finally called him and although he seemed sweet and fun, it didn't take long for him to confess that he wasn't only married twice, but three times. Next up was his omission on his profile that he was unemployed.

Now I'm wary of these 60 somethings who write "retired" under "occupation"... When they say they're "good in the kitchen," could they mean "Soup kitchen?"

In his attempt to be charming this guy wooed me with the old joke "My boss told me two words that made it impossible for me to work there any longer. "You're fired" I said jumping on his punchline.

And, I meant it, too. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...Oh, Happy Thanksgiving.

Dating on Line

I posted this photo of me. I hope nobody notices
that there's a hand growing out of my shoulder.

I went and did it. Yes. I joined TWO dating services, eharmony.com and Plentyof fish.com. Filling out the questionnaire made me come face to face with the fact that I have no interests. I have no hobbies unless you count shopping, reading, watching TV and opening the mail.

I do zero physical activities except for the dancing lessons and I hesitate to make too big a deal out of that because the lower the expectations the better. My teacher, Rainer told me I started in Kindergarten and now 8 months later I'm in 8th grade.

It's progress, but I'm limited to the Hustle and the Fox Trot and I need someone not only to lead me, but to place me. Or, better yet, RE-place me. I'll just sit it out and watch.

Not to be labeled superficial I didn't circle the highest number when asked "How important are looks to you?" I circled the next to highest so I wouldn't be matched with the guy in the deli who has one tooth.

This was a huge mistake. I should have insisted my match have a good set of dentures. E-harmony paired me with extremely odd looking men. This was discouraging. At this service they match you with who they think you'd like based on what you write.

For age I put down for 54-62 and click - a match with Ken from Freeport - Aged 60, a widower for almost ten years. Very good looking photo, gray hair and mustache, sweet smile and broad shoulders. He said he was 5'7" and I happen to like shorter men - anyone over 5'10 is just unnecessary extra height. But, I'm thinking if he wrote 5'7 he could be a midget.

We talked on the phone. It went smoothly. Gene, my ex-bereavement shrink told me when I begin to go out with men I will be emotionally back to the age before I married Jimmy. Not true. I've still lived in the world all these years. I kinda sorta almost know how to talk to a man without being uptight or slutty...a balance is the answer...I think. Okay...perhaps Gene had a point.

We met for lunch. He told the truth about his height. However, his photo was so old it may have been from his Bar Mitzvah album. The photo was a good (or bad) 8 years old. A lot happens to a face in 8 years, trust me.

A pleasant lunch. He asked me out again. I said something like 'uh, um, well, humph...' He understood. He suggested I call him if I change my mind. I offered to pay half. Happily, he said no.

On plenty of fish the questionnaire is not as intense and you get to "shop" for your match. They
select a group of men that might be a good "catch" but you can look at any one's profile and photo. It keeps you very busy, this site.

Several men were interesting and good looking and many sent me a message. I've corresponded with a few and not sure about giving out my phone number. Then, if I call them...they have it in their phone. Tricky.

It's strange, but I always played this game with myself: I would observe Jimmy from across a table or at the other end of a room and I'd ask myself: If I didn't know him would I want to get to know him? My answer was always yes. I wonder if eharmony would have paired us.

Anyway, just for the record and just to brag many men like older women. Hector at 23 was not as unusual as I thought. Gee...a baby of 26 was very persistant yesterday and today a young guy of 37. Put their ages together and I've got a match.

Obama and I Both Won Florida

Someone in the news today said that John McCain is about yesterday and Barack Obama is about the future.

After spending this past weekend in Florida I'm feeling much more future orientated in my own little world and therefore I'm in tune with our new almost President. He and I are practically one. An overstatment? I don't think so.

As some of you may know, my sense of direction is non-existent. Somehow, though, I was able to travel the roads of Florida and find my way. From the Ft. Lauderdale Airport, to Marion and Marcel (40 minutes away in Lake Worth) to Blondie and Barry in Coral Springs (another 30 minutes) to Mimi Scott in Hollywood and then back to the airport.

I was so impressed with myself my head was spinning around...which really made looking at the road ahead even more of a challenge.

You think electing the first black president is a miracle? Me, renting a car and programing a GPS and not mixing up the point A and B and winding up on road Z is like waking up from a lifelong coma.

Care to Comment?

Okay...I read the last comment from Carol (not me...I'm not so lame that I comment on my own blog.)

I re-read it. I read it again. I still have NO idea what she meant. I feel so dumb. Can anyone out there s'plain it to me?

Thanks in advance...

What Is This Thing Called "Dating?"

All right - so I put the ca bosh on sex with Hector. It may be something I'll regret especially considering I tell Jackie and Doug "We regret the things we don't do more than the things we do."

Ah, no one listens to me, anyway...why should I?

Here I am, a widow for two and a half years and still no date for the prom. (just an expression...I'm not really going to the prom)

I've sporadically gone to dinner, to a movie (okay once) and for drinks. A handful of men and no chemistry. What's the point? Until I meet someone I can't keep my hands off:

I'd rather play hide and seek with Skylar than hide in the ladies room praying my date will pay the check and go home.

I'd rather write in my blog while I sit in my underwear than be with an ugly 60 year old who farts in his.

I'd rather snuggle with my dog Tony than dance with a guy who has longer back hair than him.

I'd rather rent "Dumb and Dumber" for a laugh than be with a guy who's funniest part is his face.

Yup...I'm ready for a little romance - I accept that Jimmy isn't coming home for dinner. I haven't lost my appetite. I'm just a picky eater.

What The Hec-tor!

He's 23 and he wants me. Yes. You heard me twenty-three years old. Even to a cougar this would be smutty. A score, but smutty. A smutty score.

The odds are that Hector won't be reading this blog. English is his second language. I'm guessing Spanish is his first, although through his heavy accent it's kinda difficult to tell.

Who cares? I understand him fine when he says "I've been thinking about you all day." WOW...which is MOM upside down...which is what he might call me if he thought about our age difference. (35 years)

Hector and I met when I hired him last month to barbecue. Immediately I saw that he really knew how to work my grill. My guests were drinking and teasing him...suggesting he wear a speedo and "Hey, Hector - aren't you hot by the heat? How about you take off your shirt?"

He smiled good natured pretending not to understand - and at the time I was thinking he was thinking "What a bunch of old pathetic drunk people."

Well, this pathetic old drunk person locked eyes with him in the kitchen. When he leaned over the counter and told me "You have beautiful eyes" I batted them. Isn't that what a woman does when a man tells her this? Who knows? It's been a while.

Perhaps, I encouraged him. I sampled those 23 year old lips right after I slipped him the 100 bucks for cooking and clean-up. In the dining room away from wide eyes and big mouth friends we kissed...a nice kiss that promised future kisses, etc.

The next day he called. I thought, "Boy, whatever outfit I wore yesterday...I'm wearing that everyday."

I put him off. Embarrassed and a little unable to understand him on the phone, I found out he is one of 19 brothers and sisters. He's a middle child, but in his family middle is number nine.

He probably didn't get too much attention growing up and one thing's for sure - he's used to sharing his bed.

I actually considered it. I knew in my travels I would never be the pick of the day in a room full of 25, 35, and 45 year old women. Maybe, I could hold my own next to a 50 year old, but Hector was my ticket for unpaid sex with a stud.

He continued to call every week wisely not referring to me as "Mommy." Just yesterday I firmly explained to him that I need to be with someone who remembers where they were when Kennedy was shot...

That's my criteria and I'm sticking to it. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Marty's Party

Marty & Me

Marty Fischer was my friend for more than 20 years. He died of a heart attack Monday night at age 61. He was the big brother I never had.

I did have a big sister, who was a lesbian and quite the dike to boot, but Doreen, gone now 11 years from drug abuse and taking herself too seriously, really didn't fit the brother role as well as Marty did.

I could count on Marty. I could count on Marty to council me and to comfort me and yes, to let me know when I disappointed him. He was a sensitive soul. He was sweet coupled with an irritating way that each day was a new day to prove my allegiance and love to him.

That part sucked. But, that part was only a small part of Marty. Marty lived to make people happy. He'd be the first person to party more after the party ended. His recent hangout was the downtown restaurant La Mela, but Brooklyn born Marty was Mr. Diner.

Oh, and Mr. Chinese buffet. This is where "Marty's Party" began. Years ago a Chinese maitre d directed Jimmy and me to a backroom gathering that Marty was hosting, "You here for Marty's Party?" Since then I called him this and began all my e-mails to him, "Hi Marty's Party,"

No one could pile a plate higher and dig in deeper than Marty. And, the check always mysteriously disappeared, paid by, you guessed it, Marty.

The man loved to eat because he loved to live. For him, it was all about excess. Maybe, it was his play for broke habits that killed him. Or, maybe, acutely aware that his father died in his early sixties of heart disease, Marty was racing the clock.

He struggled to get it all in. He did it his way. He played Blackjack just enough that it hurt to lose. He invested in edgy businesses he had a passion for, mainly comedy clubs. This is where Marty shined. He immersed himself in comedy management. He drank in the comedy scene and comics loved and respected him. And, not for nothing, he was funnier than most.

He beamed when a comedian came off the stage, went right to his table and thanked him for the opportunity. He beamed even larger when big name comics were introduced to him and they shook his hand and said, "Of course, I know Marty Fischer!"

Ten years ago Marty sponsored me for Friars Club. I'd watch him schmooze with the staff, the members, the waiters. He had a special relationship with the waiters because "They give me stuff that's not on the menu."

As generous as Marty was, he had an area that prevented him from spending. We all have it, I guess. Jimmy could spend a fortune on a horse, but buying paper cups was "wasteful." With Marty if he got something for nothing it was not only a coo, but it must be used.

His business card printer misspelled his name, Martin FISHER - left out the c. He let Marty have them for free. Marty gave them out and then bitched that people misspelled his name.

A man about town, he loved most being with his grandsons, Alex, 5 and a half and Evan 2 and a half. And they worshipped him. The other grandpa is also named Marty, so the boys called him "Grandpa Marty Who Lives Alone." But, he was never really alone.

Marty was a fixture in so many lives and it's almost impossible to believe he's gone. Little by little, if we live long enough, the people we love disappear. We can't call them on the phone or touch them, but we can remember them. I know this isn't an original thought. It's universal. It's human.

In a few weeks Marty's friends, comics and family will gather to have a Comedy Tribute to him, a parade of loved ones to celebrate his life. We will attempt to give him the last Marty's Party.

Real Kodak Moments Don't Need Photos

I heard that photos are the most googled. People don't care about reading the text. They want to look at the image. Sarah Palin (Don't get me started...) is now the "person most googled" Although, she may be grouped in with Tina Fey.

I was always the picture taker in our family. Jimmy's theory was if it's important enough it will be etched in our memory. In other words, if it's a Kodak moment we don't need Kodak.

That said, he never anticipated the need to look over our life the way I do. Had I died maybe he'd be sorry that I was behind the camera and not in front of it. Okay. I take that back. Here I am assuming he'd be continually pouring over pictures of me. hahahahaha...Wait...Why am I laughing?

The other day an incident happened that forced me to consider that maybe kinda sorta Jimmy's theory had a speck of truth to it. As you see, it's difficult for me, even now to admit that in 33 years of marriage he may have been right - once.

Jackie was busy and I got Skylar off her school bus. I will never ever forget (although, it's only been 48 hours...ask me next year) the bus door opening to that little blond angelic face wearing grey sweatpants and a pink and white striped dress and an Ariel backpack. She stood on the top step and screeched"Grandma!" She leaped into my arms. Luckily I caught her.

We were still hugging as the bus pulled away. Later I thought of my in-laws. I remembered how overwhelmed they would be at a simple moment with my kids. They would both say,

"This has been the most wonderful day of my life!"
I'd think, "What the f%#@ is wrong with you?"

Now, I know. There was nothing wrong with them. They were grandparents...

P.S. If I had a photo I'd post it...See - Jimmy was wrong again!

House (Not the TV show)

72% of widows move within the first two years. hahahaha...I just made up that statistic. How would I know?

Many non-widows (is that like non-Jews? ) suggest I sell the house and start fresh. We bought this house 21 years ago. I remember this because Jackie was ten and Doug was six. Erma Bombeck said, "If we didn't use our kids as a gage we'd never remember when things happened." I guess she was right.

So, here I am. I continue to put my energy into house projects. I won't bore you with a list, but it's significant. So significant that my friends Alex, Richie, Anderson, Robert, Nadia, and Lynn came over yesterday and maybe they were thinking what Jim Scoroposki yelled, " So this is what you did with the insurance money!"

My latest project? I paneled and put a drop ceiling in the garage. Okay. Perhaps, that wasn't necessary. Still, it's a terrific looking garage and it adds value to the house, doesn't it? Am I selling? AHHHHHHHHH...I think that's panic speaking.

Our house has always been the "go to" house just like Jimmy was the "go to" guy. We had most holidays, even the "little" ones like Prom party, Mother's Day and Fathers Day and July 4th (wait...that's not so little)

When my friends Blondie and Barry moved to Florida and came up to New York they stayed here. Same with my cousins Marion and Marcel and my brother-in-law Robert and sister-in-law Carmela. My nephew Chuck has stayed weeks at a time.

Since Jimmy died all of the above have flopped in my guestroom. I wanted to establish early on that Jimmy wasn't the only gracious one. (When my friend Connie saw my pristine garage she said, "Now we know who the slob was.") When a couple divorces see who your friends prefer...you find out who the 'dead wood' is. In death, it's simpler.

In keeping with tradition, this Sunday will be the third bridal shower in this house since Jimmy died. Over the years we hosted a million (give or take) bridal showers and baby showers here. This house has heard more "oohs and ahhs" as the bride opens her presents than Brad and Angelina hear from the crowd as they walk the red carpet.

The famous baby shower line? "Wouldn't it be funny if her water broke right here!" Not really.

Can I move away from my next door neighbors, and close friends Sheri and Fred? And, what about Debbie and Henry, a town away. AHHHHHHHH...Jackie got divorced in July and I encouraged her and Skylar to move closer to me. Happily, they did so where am I going now?

Without getting into the tragic circumstances, just last week I even held a Shiva here. So "they" think I should move, huh? Between the kids and the friends and the overnight guests, not to mention the showers and the shivas, I'll never be able to get the &%$#@ out of here.

On My Own

I just finished reading a really good book that was praised by people far more distinguished than I. (this includes the entire Tri-state area)

Eve Ensler, the author of The Vagina Monologues called Florence Falk's On My Own: The Art of Being A Woman Alone " "A call to independence and empowerment" See what I mean? I said it was "a really good book."

Amy Sohn, author of Run Catch Kiss and My Old Man wrote, "On My Own is a provocative, smart read for any woman who is alone, wants to be alone, or is figuring out how to be alone. An empowering, emotionally honest book that is long overdue." (from the library?)

Before I was virtually alone (not cyberspace virtually) I wasn't aware how many woman as Vanessa Williams sang have, "One less egg to fry." I love these lyrics. The line "one less man to pick up after" gives me the chills. It's so simple while it says it.

I'm a little confused about the title, though. "One Less Bell To Answer" - Why would your husband be ringing the bell? Wouldn't he have a key?

Anyway, finding your own situation in others is an old story. When you're shopping for lamps you notice lamps. In the market for a white car? Every car on the road is white. Thinking of joining a cult? Suddenly, everyone is wearing moccasins. It's a phenomenon.

Yesterday's New York Times Modern Love column in the Style Section had a line that jumped out at me (not literally) Bob Morris, the author wrote about marrying his boyfriend now that gay marriage is an option. He writes: "As someone who has been a defensive single most of my adult life, I still believe that solitude makes you a deeper person, not a lesser one."

While I was skimming, I mean reading Ms. Falk's book I nodded (off to sleep?) ...in agreement that I could truly become deeper simply by reprogramming my feeble brain to believe that
it's possible to befriend aloneness.

This goes against my claims as Dr. Friendship that "If you're your own best friend you need to get out more." I've staked my illustrious (or lack luster) career on the platform - "Hugging oneself may be good for the soul, but bad for the back." Let's face it. It's an awkward position.

I've always laughed at that love yourself first crap, but now that I have no choice (I have one less bell to answer) it may be time to look in the mirror and smile.

I Fired My Shrink

My bereavement shrink reminds me of Bette Davis. I half expect her to crazy dance and sing "I've Written a Letter to Daddy."

She hasn't signed my a clean bill of health yet, but when that day happens will it really count? Gene's judgement is as credible as John Edwards. I'll feel like I cheated on a mid-term, slept with the teacher or donated a wing to the school.

I've been seeing her since December of '06 so she has helped me through some tough times, although she's gotten tougher herself each visit. She's like a Mom I continue to disappoint.

With each shake of her head I feel she's saying I ought to go out into the world and embrace widowhood. "There's no shame in telling people your husband died. You didn't kill him."

Yet, I am self conscious. And, I still belittle him in my mind. How could a big, boisterous, intelligent man, a man I counted on for all the major decisions, allow a few little cancer cells to do him in?

I may not know how to analyze a company and until recently I thought a balance sheet had a thread count, but I feel superior. I've stayed alive longer. That's twisted, I know. I expected Gene to help me with that.

She boasts that she's seen "thousands" of clients and this is quite common. I am quite common.
We wait while I re-vavel what has unraveled. I can wait alone. Who needs her?

She tells me that I still think like a married woman. She tells me I'm naive. She says, "Do you really think your daughter doesn't lie to you?" Um...That hadn't occurred to me...not at 31 years old...

When I ask Gene a question she says, "How should I know?" This reminds me of how when Jimmy and I would watch TV and I would comment, "Why is that woman running away from that man?"

Jimmy would say, "How should I know? I started watching when you did." I wasn't
really expecting an answer.

Sometimes, I do expect an answer. Gene answers, "I can't tell you what to do."

I haven't officially fired Gene. I told her I'd call her for a next appointment. I considering not calling.

Skylar - Our Little Blonde Flower Girl

 

Skylar and Adrianna

On Saturday my God-daughter Katharine married Pete - they looked so happy they actually sparkled! Skylar was one of the two flower girls.

Just nine months ago she was the flower girl for Katharine's sister Kristi...We're thinking of renting her out. Any interest? Oh, is this legal?

It Is What It Is

Today is two years and four months since Jimmy died. When someone asks me how long it's been do I say "A little over two years" "Almost two and a half years" or "Two years and four months?" And, what do I say two weeks from now?

Or, does it matter? It is what it is. I love that expression. It covers a whole lot of situations and it's neither negative or positive. It's acceptance. I accept whatever I can't change. It is what it is. That's emotionally healthy. Isn't it? Just checking...

I recently heard a newscaster say, "BACK in 2006." If I was in a coma and just woke up I'd be worried. I'd assume the year was 2016 or more. I'd demand to see a newspaper. Stat.

I used stat because it's a hospital term. I figure I'd be in a hospital. I'm sure my kids wouldn't want me snoring and dribbling on their carpet for years. Actually, even a few minutes of that would be disturbing.

We're only half way through 2008. Is it accurate to say "BACK in 2006?" Not for me. That was two years and four months ago. And, I'm still back there a good part of each day.

Like a Virgin

"I crack my knuckles." That's what I tell people when they ask me what I do for exercise. If they press me, I elaborate, "Not just my fingers, I crack almost every bone in my body every few hours."

They think I'm kidding. So, I give them a show. I bend slightly backwards and my left hip goes 'pop' - I continue with my knees, my shoulders and by the time I'm up to my neck most normal people yell "stop."

Apparently, it's disconcerting to watch, to hear and I can see that it may be perhaps something I ought to do in private. Don't ask me about my exercise program, then.

Why do I have to watch sweaty men and women who are decades past looking reasonably attractive in short-shorts walk briskly by my house swinging their arms like military rejects? Stay home on your tread mill or join a gym, cheapskates!

This small rant is a result of my recent dance lesson. The Hustle is making a comeback and so am I. Since February, twice a week, my dance instructor, Rainer Trubere at Dancesport has been tackling a nearly impossible task. I may be too white, too Jewish and too old to stand up straight, but Rainer is determined to break my lifelong habit of zero activity.

This sweet, misguided man has vowed to "clean me up." In layman terms, this means my posture will no longer resemble the Tim Conway character on the old Carol Burnett Show.

Rainer dances as gracefully as a ballet dancer, yet excels in every possible sport. He is totally physical. And, as we know, I'm anything but. Luckily, his rigorous training for his body has bumped up his endurance for the mental anguish I drop on him each session. His sense of humor has kept him from a breakdown and more important, has saved me from being strangled.

The other evening we both learned something significant. I'd like to shout it out here out so I can virtually stick my tongue out to all the middle aged know it all "athletes" who may be taking a break to sit down and read a blog.

I couldn't point my toe. Yes, I can point it, but not the way Rainer wanted me to. Always ready with a creative alternative teaching tool (extremely necessary for this student) he demonstrated limping, "You know, favor one side, like when you twist your ankle."

"I've never twisted my ankle" I said. Too stunned to comment, Rainer stood on one foot (show off!) and simply looked at me. He reminded me of how my dog Tony cocks his head to one side straining to sort out the foreign words.

"What do you mean?" he finally stammered.

"Never happened." I said. "I don't do anything physical so I've managed to avoid torn ligaments, dislocated shoulders, knee problems - all the ailments from..."

"Movement." He finished my sentence. It sounded so odd hearing it from someone else, but it was true. Pushing myself is not finding a close enough parking space.

Flabbergasted that our worlds are so opposite, he shook his head and listed all the injuries he'd suffered throughout his lifetime. The list made me shudder and it also made me smirk.

He saw it and said, "No pain-no gain."
I countered, "No strain -No pain."

Still not past it, he said, "You mean, if we took an xray of you now it would show n o t h i n g?" I nodded. Knowing I'm no youngster he was excited like we were launching a new product - me.

"Do you realize that all your active friends who are your age probably have a chronic problem from tennis or jogging?"

"They do...and not for nothing...their skin is more wrinkled from the sun - which I avoid. Again, another casualty of outdoor activities." I rested my hand on my hip with attitude, just like he taught me.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he suggested that if I do a little bit of stretching (I kinda do when I crack) and aerobics along with my dance lessons - in a few years I'll be in amazing shape (for my age...they always add that to ruin it)

"You will be superior to them physically because you're just starting out. It's like you're a virgin."

And, I am, in so many ways. Jimmy said to me, "We should have danced more." Well, here I go.

My So-Called Love Life

Here I am back to blogging. Where have I been for two months? Is my sense of direction so bad that I can't locate my computer? I find it to e-mail friends. I play three card poker and video poker on-line.

Sometimes writing about life gets in the way of living it. Often, I'm writing in my head and it's just a matter of putting it down (not my head, the thoughts) Now, half the summer is gone. I'm attempting to review.

A week ago today my crackerjack agent, Victoria Skurnick of the Levine Greenberg Literary Agency sent my "Poor Widow Me" proposal out to publishers. She told me to keep my fingers crossed and I said, "How am I going to type like that?" I haven't heard from her since.

The memoir only covers the first year after Jimmy's death and if I'm lucky enough to get a "Yes" from a publisher today it will be nine months to a year before the book is out - At that point it will be over three years and as a reader I'd want an update. I'd want to know how the first year compares with the second, etc...and I'm too lazy to write another book.

So, my last chapter will be an epitaph (look it up) Keeping current with this blog will help me remember this time period. It will be my note taking for that chapter.

Starting today - no more huge gaps in these entries. It probably makes sense to categorize. Today, I'll talk a tinge about my love life.

Before I do that I must say that daily life is different for me now. I do similar things, but I'm more comfortable doing them. The change for me is internal. And, yet external because of the way people react and respond to me. That leads me right into my so-called love life.

The first year when I was asked "How are you?" it was accompanied by a crumpled face and a suffocating hug. At the year and a half mark "How are you?" was a careful tread bordering on perky and the translation was: "Are you dating yet?"

Today, two years and three months in, a wink precedes "How are you" and often no words are spoken to say "Seeing anyone special?"

In the romance department, I've learned I'm behind the curve. I've only gone on four dates and even those were just to get my feet wet. As I predicted, they only lead to soggy socks. My attraction to the handyman was inappropriate and I couldn't pull the trigger, anyway so I'm not sure if that one counts.

My bereavement shrink, Gene tells me I still think like a married woman. Yesterday, just to spite her when two cute guys in the elevator asked me if I was married, I much too enthusiastically said, "No." I think they expected me to add, "Press the stop button."

Gene tells me I'm naive. I half expect Cupid to find me at the cleaners or the butcher or in my kitchen. "Love doesn't come to you. You must go to love" she says. When I quote Gene in person I give her an Romanian accent. It adds flavor.

The biggest change is that I feel sorta kinda almost ready to experience someone Jimmy-like. This time we get to grow old together and he has a mustache. (or at least more hair on his upper lip than I have)

Never Say Never

Finally, it stopped raining...Experts told us it would stop one day. They just didn't tell us which day.

In keeping with my new love of the outdoors a crazy thought popped into my head. No, I am not planning a camping trip. To me, 'roughing it' means no room service. Jamie deRoy hits a truthful chord when she sings her parody song "Jews Don't Camp."

I'm seriously considering renting a small furnished place in...in...in...F L O R I D A... next January and February. I'm stuttering because I've never been a fan of Florida and Jimmy wanted to spend a chunk of the winter there. He hated the cold. I hate the hot. This was our standoff.


In my fumbling defense, that last February, '06 when we were there for five days I did say, "Ya know, at this time of the year, no hurricanes, not so sticky...not so bad." I was beginning to
break. I WAS!


Today's plan? My dog, Tony and I will hit the road right after the New Year. We'll drive down. We'll drive down? Not to be picky, I'll be doing all the driving.

Why the about face? When I got Tony last August I said to my next door neighbor, Fred..."I love walking a dog!" He said, "Wait until it's eleven degrees out."

Admittedly, in February, it was less pleasant. But we're New Yorkers, Tony and I. And, that means it's exhilarating to sniff bare bushes and lift our leg on the frozen pavement. Ice that stuck to our fur is a fun surprise that we simply recycle to our water dish.

Not to lean on a cliche, but you can't beat the change of seasons and layers are far more forgiving
than tank tops. Give us a puppy cut when the temperature drops and we're grateful. We have Spring to look forward to. After all, if you haven't fought the war you can't appreciate the peace. Too dramatic? Maybe...

On the other paw, (oh, no, she didn't...) where was Spring this year? It's May 21st. Is May the new March? After spending month after frigid month shivering with Tony in the backyard watching his stream practically freeze in mid-air I had this snow-bird revelation.

Recently, I discovered a hint of green scattered on the hard, cold lawn. I stared in disbelief. Tony gave me his "What's this?" expression, the one he puts on when I introduce a new treat. As the days passed more color appeared as the twigs sprouted leaves. Soon small purple flowers joined in and Tony and I found ourselves prancing around 'a garden.' Who knew it was under there all this time?

If we spend a few months in Florida next year I can see my buddy Blondie more and my cousins Marion and Marcel and Sharon and Eli and their kids and Puff and David and Skylar can visit with Jax and Doug will come and other friends will fly down.

But, how do I explain this to Jimmy?

Old Post Revisited

I'm not trying to sneak a recycled post by you. I'm not that lazy. Well, maybe I am, but I dug this one up from last July because with all this rain every day even anti-sun me is eager for a dry sunny day.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Who Jumped Into My Body?

Yesterday I opened the back door and actually breathed in the summer air without retreating fast to my crisp air-conditioned kitchen. Instead of my usual "Ugh. It's hot. My hair" I was "ahhhh. The sun. Feels good."Scratch my concern about my hair because it's been straighened the new Brazilian way. But I'm dumbfounded that I've spent a lifetime avoiding the sun, the beach and convertibles and yet just this morning I couldn't wait to be outside manuvering a push broom to sweep my front steps.

Then, I grabbed the garden hose and like an old lady warning "Get off my property" I nosed the nozzle at my driveway. I saw a rainbow. It was wonderful. It was invigorating.

"Look Jimmy, I'm outside! If Jimmy is watching me, I know he's pissed. He would beg me to go to the beach. I hated the scratchness of the sand. He'd promise to drive his convertible slow enough so my hair wouldn't look like a rat's nest. Of course, he lied. How do you do 20 mph on the Long Island Expressway?

He'd conjole me to have coffee with him on the deck and I did...until the sun got too intense. (6 minutes)I happily lived in a dark cold cave and now that Jimmy is no longer alive I suddenly appreciate what he wanted me to soak in with him. LIFE.

Yet, if he hadn't died I never would have deeply known how fragile life is, how the sand can hug my heel and my arch and make walking a whole new almost life affirming experience. I guess, it's not always about the shoes.

I so regret that I didn't take more strolls on the beach with him and that we rarely just sat together sipping a cold drink on a hot deck. It took losing him to understand.Don't get me wrong, though. I haven't turned into a nature freak. I may be seduced by the smell of freshly cut grass, but I'm still not about to roll around on the lawn and risk staining my white pants.

Tips for Getting 'On With It'

Today I did a radio interview with Dr. Jane Greer on www.healthylife.net. It was an hour (less commercials) of talking about myself and my "circumstances." I know Jane for many years and she's a real pro and easy to talk with. The hour flew by...at least, for me, it did. Although, when I hear it I may have to tie myself to a train track...

Jane introduced me by reading my writing credentials and explaining my new status as widow. She emphasized that I'm adusting remarkably to my new life. She attributed my healing to my sense of humor. I believe she's right.

A handful of months ago I was on the Judith Regan Show talking for the first time about this blog and the memoir based on it. My previous radio experience was silly and jokey as Dr. Friendship, the female friendship expert. (Rule #1: If you're your own best friend, you need to get out more.")

Today's interview was easier and harder. It was easier because I was simply talking about my life. It was harder because it once again drove home the point, made it official - my husband has died. When asked 'marital status' I circle 'widow.'

In one of her books, The After life Connection Jane writes, "You never get over it...you get on with it." Towards the end of the show Jane asked me to give her audience tips for "getting on with it." It made me pause. It caused me to view myself semi-responsible for the widow world. Oh, my...Did I sign up for that?

My babble about my life started to sound small. Here was an opportunity to spell out what has worked for me. So, what has worked for poor widow me? I blurted out what I knew to be true.

1. GIVE YOURSELF PERMISSION TO LAUGH.

I realize many widows feel squimish or guilty about laughing. I never did. This may be because I come from the comedy world and it's said that if it's your circumstance you can make fun of it. More importantly, Jimmy and I spent our lives laughing...He would be the first to see the humor within the tragedy.

When I look back on the day I changed my on-line profile I'm amazed. I wrote I would "find the funny." This was only three months after Jimmy died... I wasn't deturmined to find humor. Deturmined implies it was an effort. It wasn't.

I knew I'd be able to pull humor from my new life because my sense of humor is my core. To anyone who has lost a husband or a wife ...We may have lost our spouse, but we haven't lost ourselves. Who you are without him isn't all that clear immediately. Take this as an opportunity to find out.

2. WRITE DOWN YOUR FEELINGS OFTEN.

You don't have to put them in a blog for the public to see. You don't have to spell correctly, either. Writing unscatters feelings. When you write about your emotions you're forced to pinpoint what the MAIN emotion is. So many feelings are swimming within us especially the first year, that putting it on paper makes us choose a theme among all the sub-plots. One feeling at a time is much easier to deal with.

3. KEEP BUSY.

It's difficult to know what to keep busy with - After all, so many of our activities have been as a couple. I'm fortunate to have my writing and many woman work real day jobs that gives them a reason to get out of bed each day. I've always had my own time with friends. Ironically, As Dr. Friendship I used to say that since women live longer than men - the other widows won't let you in the card game if you haven't been playing all these years.

Staying physical has helped me - I find myself actually moving faster and I'm more annimated than ever before. It may have something to do with needing to feel alive. Moving about = fighting back.

I started taking dancing lesssons a few months ago. Don't ask. I'm ridiculously white. I'm majoring in Hustle and a little bit of Salsa. I'm awful in both. Still, I'm having fun and maybe someday I'll actually find a partner.

4. DO FUN THINGS WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS

It's awkward. It's painful, for us and for them. They see me. They see Jimmy. Still, the relationships need to be nutured - so many widows complain their couple friends have left the building. I wonder who left first.

And, the kids are here for the long haul. Jimmy, assuming he'd be in his 80's used to joke and tell them "If I feel myself going I'll try to take your mother with me...so she won't live to be a burden to you."
They never agrued. Nice. Now, they're going to pay.

Not A Celebration or a Tribute....

This past Sunday, April 13th, marked the second year since Jimmy died. As the day approached I tumbled back again experiencing the weeks leading up to his death. I replayed that terrible time frame by frame.

Gene, my bereavement shrink (now I go every other week) affirmed that this is natural at "anniversary time." She knows this to be true because she's treated "thousands and thousands of grieving people." A session is not a session without the word "thousands" coming out of her mouth. One day I'm going to ask her to name them.

Here it is only a few days later and already I feel lighter and more focused on the future. How can a number on the calendar can be so powerful?

It may be because we didn't gloss over the day. Several of us visited Jimmy at the cemetery in the morning and then Jackie, Skylar, Doug, my nephew Chuckie, Fanny and my friends Debbie and Henry went to dinner - Connie and Trifon surprised us - met us at Puglia in East Meadow.

So many of Jimmy's core people eating and laughing together twisted the day away from a drowsy, rundown, flu-like feeling. It wasn't a celebration or a tribute. It was simply a bunch of us appreciative to have each other and grateful to be alive and well.

Can We Move On Without Moving Out?

A fellow member of the Friars Club waved her bony finger at me and said, "You don't belong in that house, anymore. The city is the place for you."

I should have punched her in the mouth. I've never actually hit anyone and I think this would have been a good moment to start. You may be thinking, "Who is SHE to tell YOU where to live?" Well, she's a real estate agent and these baracudas just can't help themselves. Everyone is a property to them.

She waited what she considered a respectable amount of time before she swept in with the ad she's been composing in her head since she heard that Jimmy died:

House for Sale

"Poor Widow has lost her mate and now has no need for a kitchen...who is she going to cook for anyway? One bedroom is plenty...a place for her to lay her zombie-like body after a day of sobbing. Her kitchen table can double as an office where she sits for hours pulling her hair out writing checks for services she never knew she had to pay for, like water.

All furniture will stay because everyone knows after a loss like this it's way too painful to surround yourself with familar stuff. One exception: The ridiculously expensive, yet extremely cool leather chair her husband refused to buy because "Do I have an S on my forehead that stands for shmuck?"

Naturally, the widow got her way and that chair became her husband's favorite. The seller wants to keep it to remind herself that she won that war.

A backyard is no longer necessary for this middle-aged single. After all, she should be perched at the front window just in case someone attractive passes by. Perhaps, she can rub her thighs together for friction and when a spark catches she can run out the front door screaming, "Fire!"

This is far more inventive than placing an ad on JDate or Match.com."

So, other widows - do what feels right for you. I'm staying here with my memories. It's home until it no longer feels like where I should be.

What is Progress?

At the wedding...

Big head or small hat?

Cowgirl Jax

Cowboy Doug

Traveling alone is a very grown-up thing to do. It begins with the deciding to go. That in itself makes me shake my head with the realization that I can go and do whatever I want - whenever I want.

Not having to 'check in' or 'check with' Jimmy is beginning to feel liberating. In two weeks it will be two years that he's gone. In these last few months something shifted and not to be cliche - the fog lifted. Using a cliche is bad writing, but, until very recently there was an actual fog all around me. These days, I feel more relaxed, better capable of understanding how the world works.

On the other hand, (another cliche) I still can't set my alarm clock. I still get lost even in a parking lot. And, I still smack my side mirror backing out of my garage. But, there's progress. I feel fairly comfortable saying "my garage."

I intended to write today about my most recent trip, last week's Vegas jaunt, but I want to backtrack a bit...partly as an excuse to post those photos. A few weeks ago, on March 14th Jackie and Doug and I flew to Houston, Texas for my cousin's Pam's wedding. That day would have been Jimmy's 58th birthday. We ate dinner in the airport and we clicked glasses - "Happy Birthday."

When we got on the airplane I felt like we were leaving him behind. His family is traveling to an event being part of life's celebrations, but where is Jimmy? Is he back in that restaurant or is he sitting next to the pilot invisible to us all?

I shook off that thought and put my headset on. I closed my eyes and listened to the oldie channel, sentimental music. I can do that now. This is progress - I told myself...although, real progress would be not even thinking that this is progress. Damn.

What a Casino Means To Me

Tomorrow morning I'm meeting my friend Lori in Las Vegas. I've been back a few times since Jimmy died, but I recently realized that a casino represents all the stages of my life. I can trace who I am today and who I was forty years ago by remembering my occasions in a casino.

My first trip to Vegas was with my mother. I was 17 and my father had recently died. He was 57 just a year older than Jimmy was. My mother was much younger. She was a widow at 43.

She was eager to jump back into the dating pool and swim with a younger guy. That was clear to me as she dressed me up to make me look older and legal; her companion and bait. She was like that. There were always strings attached.

Five years later when we were 22 Jimmy and I went to Vegas for our honeymoon. We only had enough money for one of us to gamble. Fresh faced and totally enamoured I stood over him at the blackjack table. As he played craps I convinced myself that I was his "lady luck."

The casino, an atmosphere of chance, excited and energized us. We were grown-ups here; sexy.
He was my James Bond and our incredible life lay stretched out in front of us, a winding trail of pure happiness.

Decades later I'd take note of young couples at the tables with similar body language. I'd smile remembering us. Often there would be an older woman in her fifties, sixties and even seventies, an obvious regular. Both extremes told me I was smack in the middle of life.

I knew the girl's stories but I'd be curious about the older woman. Where was her husband? Did
he leave her beause she had a gambling problem? Had he died? Is her diamond bracelet real?

Soon after our honeymoon we graduated to gambling junkets. Everything was paid for as long as Jimmy played heavy enough. We bet above our means to get a taste of the high life. Once I watched Jimmy play roulette and parlay our last fifty dollars up to nine hundred. Some wives would be horrified. I was proud. "Come on 14. We need a new fence for the backyard" we would yell.

When Resorts Hotel and Casino opened in Atlantic City, just a three hour drive from us, we were practically at the door before the ribbon was cut. Then, we "worked" hard to establish a credit line.

Before long they were sending a limo for us and soon after that the casino offered us 45 minute helicopter rides. This insured we'd get there quicker and spend more money. We knew this but being young and stupid it still made us feel special.

One evening a stormy and fog-filled sky forced us to make an emergency landing. Jackie and Doug were eight and four years old. We made a pact. No more helicopters for us.

But, of course we continued to gamble. Jimmy always played much more than I did. The comps for free rooms, food and transportation were based on his play. We'd begin our gambling day standing on the outskirts of the casino pumped up and ready, like a boxer about to lunge from his corner.

He would hand me cash knowing full well within an hour and a half I'd be down to zero. I'd find him, watch him play a few hands and pretend to be interested. Naturally, I showed up to replenish. Finally, he'd plop a few chips in my hand and I was on my way. I was consistantly unlucky. Jimmy called me his anchor, but not in a good way.

Fun filled trips to casinos with friends and family continued throughout the years. Whether we won or we lost, we always laughed. Of course, we laughed harder when we won.

I assumed we'd be that old couple in ridiculous bermuda shorts strolling hand in hand on the boardwalk in Atlantic City or on the strip in Las Vegas. Instead, tomorrow I'll be sitting at a table aware that a thirty-something girl next to me is eyeing my diamond bracelet. I'll watch her have a run of bad luck. I'll notice her chips dwindling.

She'll sigh as she gets up and she'll wish everyone at the table good luck. She'll walk in the direction of the high stakes pit area and I'll hear Jimmy's voice say, "Back so soon? You're killing me."

May Our Friends Be Our Family & Our Family Be Our Friends

Bunny runs in the family...I mean, funny...

Skylar and I often wear our bunny ears. Luckily, it's Easter time. We got, "Oh, how festive!" instead of the usual "Enough already with the ears, you two!"

Holidays are getting easier. I actually looked forward to the preparing. In the 'old' days my preparing was picking out a great outfit and making sure I had a hair appointment. For some reason Jimmy didn't trust me to touch anything food related. I didn't mind. I set the table and ran out for extra ice. We were a team.

This year we celebrated Easter Eve which worked out perfectly since I did lots of last minute shopping and apparently most places close on Easter Sunday. Who knew?

I happen to be excellent at errands. Even with my non-existent sense of direction I manage to
to navigate from store to store logically. I never understood why Jimmy would have five things on his list and come home after doing three "to take a break." As I was leaving the liquor store yesterday I thought, 'Jimmy would come home now for fifteen minutes.'

When will I stop thinking "Jimmy would...?"

We were eleven people and I'm grateful I was able to surround myself with a perfect blend of family and friends. My kids, Sky and Fanny, my mother-in-law was the family.

In the friends corner (I didn't actually make them sit in a corner) were Connie and Terry. Unfortunately, their daughter Kristi and her husband Matt couldn't make it, but my god-daughter Katharine and her fiance Pete were there and so were my friends Debbie and Henry.

We promised to make this a yearly tradition. Still, as we anticipate many more years of happy holidays together that familiar twinge of reality is ever present. It's kind of like our innocence was collectively taken away. Year to year? We don't know from day to day.

Living in the present is the only way for me to live now. Appreciating the NOW seems to work. That's why I didn't repeat last Easter's toast, "Family is doing things you don't want to do with people you don't want to do them with."

I can't deny that's mostly true. And, of course that's why it's funny. Still, as I saw all the people I loved sitting together at my Easter Saturday table I said,

"May our friends be our family and our family be our friends."

Then, Skylar and I tapped our bunny ears for luck.

Dancing With the Klutz

These days when people ask me "What's new?" there's a gleam in their eyes. I translate that to:

"So, are you dating?"

My standard answer is "I'm ready for a little romance. It's got to be the right chemistry,
though."

Sometimes I say, "I've gone out to dinner...a few men, but Jimmy is a tough act to follow."

My friend Vera wanted to fix me up with Tom. He's 60 but only dates women under 45. I have two words for him and it's not "Happy Birthday."

Eventually, Mr. Right will come along and as the comic Mick