Abuse Widow

 Disclaimer: The following is my experience and it no way means to minimize the loss, by death, of a beloved spouse.  If you have experienced that my sincere condolences go out to you.

 I am an abuse widow.  My marriage died and it nearly broke me.  It’s been eight years now and the grief still lingers at times.  I was talking with a friend recently and she spoke of a common acquaintance who had just lost her husband.  As my friend relayed the symptoms this poor soul was going through, I couldn’t help but think of how much they mirrored my own.

I too have cried myself to sleep more nights than I can begin to count.  I cried so loudly, many times I feared my neighbor across the hall from me just might complain to the landlord.  I was embarrassed and humiliated by it, but nevertheless, had no power to stop the flow of tears or the agony from which they came.  I have suffered the loss of a child within the womb, the loss of my mother while I was pregnant for her first grandchild, and other harsh blows in my lifetime, but none came even remotely close to this kind of pain.  Pain from knowing that hope for change, hope that he would one day understand 
how his words, his cruelty wounded you, made you feel unloved, unworthy and small.

I too have cried in the middle of the day, in the middle of a conversation, in the middle of trying to do my job.  To onlookers, there was no apparent reason for my outburst of sorrow, but all it takes is one thought, one memory, to trigger the flow of tears for all that is gone.  If I tried to hold them back, my stomach began to churn, and a large lump would form in my throat until I gave in to the inevitable release.  There is no dignity in this grief.  And when that grief is caused not by death, not physical death anyway, there is no consistent remedy offered or available to the grieving.  I lost my home, the family I had loved for more than half of my life, my church and many friends.

There were no sympathy cards.  There were no flowers.  No one brings food or sits with you, holding your hand or your limp, numb body in their arms of comfort.  There is just a paper document stating life as you knew it, is over, it is dead... and judgement. No CPR can revive the life you thought you had, the life you worked so hard to build and make work. 

It's okay to grieve.  It’s okay to feel angry, and it’s okay to cry...  for all of the injustices, betrayals, and gossip.  You will overcome this.  And you are not alone.