Marriage is all about give and take. It’s a 50-50 proposition. It’s about compromise. That’s what they tell you. But Jon is gone now — gone enough to have forfeited his right to have a say in things. Which means — I’m widowed. I get to have it my way, 100 percent of the time.
This have-it-my-way mood started soon after Jon died:
Jon’s laptop. It’s mine now. Given all the paperwork in the days following Jon’s death, I saw that I needed — wanted — a second laptop to keep handy near the kitchen. So I moved Jon’s laptop from his upstairs office to the dining room table.
This created a wrenching empty spot on Jon’s desk. But I needed that laptop. I took it.
Jon’s half of our bedroom closet. It’s mine now, too. For years I eyed Jon’s half of our closet, coveting it for the crush of clothes I kept at my end of the closet.
I once asked Jon if he’d like to move his wardrobe to the closet in our son’s old bedroom — spread out a bit, get comfortable. He said no, huffily asserting his right to his half of our closet. For years, I made do with my half.
But then, within months of Jon’s death, I saw my chance to have it my way, closet-wise. I shed the obligatory tears over my husband’s dear belongings. Then I merrily dispatched his entire wardrobe — dress shirts, slacks, navy blue wedding suit — to Peter’s closet. And now I have my own private walk-in closet.
Our king-sized bed — it’s too big for me. Christina and her husband Tim will be here for Thanksgiving week. They need Jon’s and my big, fat, king-sized marital bed — way more than I do.
I’m a scant 62 inches tall, with a wing span of 57 inches. I fit just fine into the old four-poster full-sized bed in Christina’s bedroom that nicely accommodated my 20th-century parents — the both of them — for decades.
It was time to make the switch. And yet, and yet — Jon and I had shared this bed (till snoring did us part) for years — could I let go of it? And it was on this bed, after all, that Jon lay, downed by a stroke, waiting for that ambulance.
I thought it over, and soon the sorrow of giving up our bed gave way to a the happy prospect of moving Christina and Tim from that cramped double bed into one big enough to hold two full-sized Millennials.
I called the movers. The beds were switched.
It felt good. It felt so good that now I’m seeing lots more stuff to say good-bye to. Things from the past — all of it getting in the way of the present:
- My mother’s vintage table lamps.
- My mother-in-law’s vintage table lamps.
- The hand-painted plate I bought in a rush in Rothenberg. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like now.
- Books that I last opened in the 1960s by people like Bertrand Russell and George Santayana. I didn’t get them then. I don’t get them now.
- The compromise china that Jon and I picked out as our wedding approached. It was Spode. It was elegant. But I never really warmed to it. It was a compromise.
Marriage is all about compromise, they tell us. Widowhood, for better or worse, is not.
More about making decisions as a widow at “Do I Stay or Do I Move?” Also at, “Widowed: I’m Staying Put. And So Are My Bricks.”
Blake Gilmore says
Love it. Food for the (living) thought!
Barbara Falconer Newhall says
Yep.
Elaine says
Sounds like you have an excellent plan. Great story!!
Happy Thanksgiving to the family.
Barbara Falconer Newhall says
Thank you! Happy Thanksgiving!
Liz says
Congratulations. I believe you’ve made it to the other side. Or, at least over a tall hurdle toward creating the new Barbara. This is a big accomplishment. Good work!
Barbara Falconer Newhall says
If you want to see the new Barbara, come look at my gardens. Work starts on the front yard soon.
Deidre Brodeur-Coen says
Good for you! You will enjoy these changes. HAPPY Thanksgiving!
Barbara Falconer Newhall says
Yes. I enjoying letting go of some of that stuff. Happy Thanksgiving!