Surviving Widowhood: A Widows Tribute To Other Widows

I have written about this day before, but today it feels especially poignant for some reason. Today is the anniversary of the death of John Lennon. And thirty nine years ago, Mark David Chapman gave me a gift I never asked for nor wanted…a commonality with Yoko Ono in the form of widowhood.

I am always a little bit down whenever this day rolls around, but I can’t even “imagine” how this day affects Yoko. Time has surely healed the overwhelming despair that threatened to stop her breath when she was newly widowed, but recovery from the death of husband isn’t all she’s had to move past. Every year, on this date she is assaulted with photographs, articles, vigils, and well wishers from around the world commemorating the death of her iconic husband. I can only “imagine” how difficult that must be. I find myself wondering about her today, as I’ve been prone to do every year since my husband passed away. She always appeared stereotypically inscrutable, face revealing little. Her appearance of meekness definitely did NOT mean weakness. She was indomitable. And probably still is, these many years later. I “imagine” she has changed since her carefree days of “Give Peace A Chance” and “Don’t Worry, Kyoto.” She has definitely kept John Lennon’s memory alive, and I am very grateful for that.

This is not an ode to Yoko Ono. It’s merely an observation that death can make for some pretty strange bedfellows. Widowhood is the great leveler. It’s a badge I share with Yoko Ono, Courtney Love, Coretta King, and Jackie Kennedy. Granted, their socio-economic status is ‘way beyond my reach, but grief respects no one. I “imagine” it took it’s toll on these ladies in blood, sweat and many, many tears.

At the end of the day, we widows are not alone. We share a sisterhood with many others and they have become our tribe, in a way. We have companionship and we have common ground. And ultimately, we have God to lead us out of the dark hollows of our souls into the sunlit mountains of our peace. We raise our weapons and sound a “barbaric yawp” across the decades of our common core. We raise our heads in triumph because we are still here, we’re still standing and we won’t go quietly into the night. We breathe in and out, each breath a victorious proclamation that we survived. We see the perspective of life for what it really is—short, brutish and precious. We live like there’s no tomorrow, because we know we may not be here and we embrace that fact with courage. We love. We live. We learn. And we learned well.

May the Lord bless and keep each of you reading this today and may He shine His lovely face upon you and give you peace.