I am married to a dead man

It might sound callous to some, but I don't know how else to put it. I am married to a dead man.  I still feel, no, I still am, married. I promised to love Jim for the rest of my life, not his.  As Maddy Paxman writes, "In my head, I still consider myself to be his wife, not his widow. My grief has not yet moved into the past tense." For about six months after Jim died, I couldn't even use the word widow to refer to myself. I am an avid reader and bought stacks of books on grieving, but it took me a year before I could open a book that had Widow in the title.

I still wear my rings. Perhaps it is a form of denial, but it just feels right. And expect to hear me talk about my husband, Jim. I can't just block out the last 20 years of my life experiences. He was so much of my life, a part of me, and continues to be. He, and my grief, will forever be a part of who I am. I still consider myself lucky for loving Jim so much that I grieve him so deeply.

Someday I may write my own book about the lighter side of grief, those who think I am suddenly (well, it's been over a year, they say) in dire need of a man. The strange things that people (including me) say, think and do. But for now let me just say, in my heart, I am married. I am not available, looking or even wishing... for anyone but Jim.


So please don't ask, "have I met someone? Am I seeing someone? Is there someone special" I know it is hard for you to understand how much those questions hurt. I may be ready someday, to look, to feel, to open my heart to love again, but for now, and until I let you know otherwise, I am married...to a dead man.

Paxman writes about introductions at a party, and explains:

‘This is Michael Donaghy’s . . .  what should I call you? His widow? His ex?’ my host asked. I thought about it briefly and answered ‘His wife.’ 

After all, although Michael is dead, I am  not married to anyone else. And nor am I likely to be just yet. 

And we didn’t choose to end the marriage — he was just snatched away from it, and me, by dying suddenly at the age of 50. 

That was ten years ago. In my head, I still consider myself to be his wife, not his widow. My grief has not yet moved into the past tense. And, yes, while ten years may seem like a very long time to be in mourning, I can tell you that in the journey of grieving it really isn’t. 

And so I live in a world where I am still mourning, but those around me seem terribly confused by my emotions. Grief is openly discussed, portrayed regularly on television or in the papers, and now even tweeted about incessantly. 

But we still don’t know how to actually feel it, or to sit quietly with the experience of friends who are grieving. Saying that ‘Time will heal’ is no help at all. And, anyway, I’m not sure it’s true. 

Time moves on, life moves on, but grief, like love, becomes forever part of who you are

Read more: The Daily Mail: Why Can't We Cope with Grief...