On Being a Widow, Part 2

Judy's new bed, much emptier but at least a little more comfortable.

"In most instances, the most sound advice to offer a recent widow or widower is to do nothing drastic." Francis Degen

My sister Judy's husband Bob was killed last summer when his private plane crashed after an air show in Oregon. They usually attended air shows together from their home base in LA, but Judy was in San Francisco with a visiting cousin.

I've documented the crash, the details, the memorial and Judy's first thoughts on the aftermath. Coping with widowhood is challenging, especially when it's sudden and unexpected.

Judy's given me more musings to share on life as a widow.

I know I saw this coming – for years. Racing through the sky in high performance vintage WWII airplanes naturally carries a risk. I think that at some subconscious level I had prepared my gut for it.

That doesn't make it any better, nor does it mitigate the changes in my life – and the difficulty of adapting to those changes.

Bob and I had a ritual of a good-bye kiss before he took off. We laughed and agreed this was necessary in case I never saw him again. I wasn't there at that last air show -- so no kiss. My fault?

Friends and associates think a tsunami of grief should have knocked me over and rendered me incapable of almost anything. It didn't. It hasn't.

They are surprised by my efficiency in carrying out normal activities. I just do it one day at a time. Get up, take a shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, move on to the tasks of the day. Repeat daily. I find myself trying to comfort them with descriptions of my routine. I hope it helps.

These same friends and associates seem to feel it would be insensitive to utter Bob's name in my presence. The name "Bob" is like the word "cancer"... in the course of a normal conversation, both words cause voices to drop to a whisper. That doesn't help.

I remember when my father died, we tiptoed around my grandmother the same way until after about a week, one day she erupted in a tirade of angst. Reminded us that my father had indeed lived among us and not talking about him was abnormal, unnatural and hurtful to her. I'm forced to agree.

No, I'm not okay with it, but I do what I have to do. I have thrown myself into work, sometimes long days, sometimes long distances, nearly always leaving the house in the dark. While I love my work, I'm still disappointed that there is nobody to call to say I'll be late. There's nobody to sympathize with my slave labor.

I had a 16-hour day last week and came home through the madness of post-UCLA-game traffic. I started to cry but decided to save that energy and with a few zigs and zags, made my 15-minute ride a mere 45 minutes.

And at the end of a long, busy week when I come home on Friday and have to slow down my engine alone, it puts me at very loose ends and I feel very blue. My cheery self reminds me I can sleep late, go to a movie, go hiking with friends, anything I want. My insides tell me those are not my first choices.

Then there is Bob's estate. My frantic work schedule brings a double reward: an income and distraction. I am good at a lot of things, but money management is not one of them. So I call upon my friendly lawyer, accountant or the investment advisor it took four months to choose, throw myself on their mercy and hope I'm doing the right thing.

There are family member issues that have necessitated more lawyers. I would have much preferred to discuss it all over a dining room table, but it's too late now. So that hangs over my head even on a good day.

So, weekdays are fair except for getting into bed alone. Weekends suck. It's that silence thing again, a mixed blessing because that's when I'm supposed to gear up for another week of a frantic work schedule.

I could gear up more easily when Bob was here. There's a hole in my life that wasn't there before my world exploded -- the world that is now too solitary and quiet.

I know I saw this coming and am living the way I imagined I would. I just didn't know how much I wouldn't like it.

Well. There's not a lot to say to that. Except this: you're not alone if you don't want to be. Your family is here for the asking.

And this: Judy, you are incredibly strong and brave. An inspiration even. We love you.