In the early days of my relationship with my husband, he felt comfortable sharing stories about his late wife. There was an air of mystery surrounding her, primarily because I had never met her. Initially, I was content with knowing just the basics about her life. However, as time went on, my curiosity grew into an obsession that needed to be satisfied.
I remember the exact moment my obsession began. During the first week of our marriage, I stumbled upon a folder in his old filing cabinet. Inside were signed papers for an adoption process that he and his late wife had initiated. The dates on the documents revealed that they had filed them between her cancer diagnosis and her death. This discovery was a turning point for me. She was no longer just a name from his past; she became a real person with dreams and desires.
This revelation hit me hard. I realized that she had been a living, breathing human being who had shared a life with my husband. She was no longer a one-dimensional figure; she was a woman with emotions, needs, and desires, just like me. This realization made me feel threatened. She became "the other woman" in my mind, someone who had shared a bed, a home, and a life with my husband.
For a year, I struggled with these feelings. I was constantly exhausted from the emotional toll it took on me. My self-esteem plummeted, and I dreaded my husband's touch, fearing he would compare me to her. I even considered divorce, but I didn't want to let her "win." I needed validation for my fears and feelings.
Finally, I sought help from a psychologist who specialized in grief counseling. He suggested I write a letter to the late wife as if she could read it. Initially, I was skeptical, but I decided to give it a try. I drove to the cemetery, sat by her marker, and poured out my heart in a letter.
Writing the letter was a transformative experience. My anger faded, replaced by sorrowful compassion. I realized that my feelings of hatred were misplaced. I didn't hate her; I hated myself. But through this exercise, I began to love us both.
Here is an excerpt from the letter I wrote:
"I wish I could meet you. I would have liked to have known the kind of woman my husband chose the first time around. I'd like to think that because of our mutual love for him, we might have been good friends. And oh, I would have had so many questions to ask you! What strengths do we have in common? What fears do we share? What was it about our husband that first attracted you? What was it about him that you loved so much? How did he propose to you? How was your sex life? Too personal? OK, sorry....but it DOES cross my mind from time to time!"
Embracing the late wife is about giving credit where it's due. She was a valuable person, worthy of love and compassion. Forgiving yourself is the first step in healing the guilt you may bear for having blamed her. Remember, even if you never hear a disparaging word about her, she was not a saint. The seemingly flawless image you have of her is only in your mind. Embracing her means accepting her for who she was, faults and all, and recognizing what she gave to your husband. Most importantly, it means accepting that you two will be forever linked by the love you both share(d) with your husband.
By understanding and embracing these complexities, we can navigate the emotional landscape of being married to a widower with greater empathy and compassion.
