Susan Dec 2013 5At the age of 53, I was widowed. My husband was ten years older than me and had been retired for all of a month when everything went wrong. It was a Monday. My daughter and I were carpooling into school and work so we barely said “goodbye” as we raced out for the day. He called me at work. It wasn’t one of those swell Lifetime Movie conversations. No long words of love and longing. No music playing in the background. Our last talk was about a canned veggie sale at the market. Yup, canned veggies – peas or carrots? That was our last conversation. Ever. The next call, about an hour or so later, was from a 9-1-1 operator. Two years later and I still have the message saved on my voicemail at work. Yup, two years. So, you get to make choices when shit happens. You curl up in a fetal position under a blanket and hope for some super good meds to kick in … or you get up, brush yourself off, and start over. While the first option sounded really appealing, I had a 17 year old daughter in her senior year of HS. Fetal position was a luxury I couldn’t afford. So, I have learned some lessons since October 17. 2011. The W-Card is just one. The W-Card is the Widow Card. It’s the card I use to get me out of some of the situations I have encountered in my newfound marital status – “W”. You’re not an “M” or an “S” … you are the last box on the form… “W.” Well, shortly after I stopped gagging at the sound of the word “widow,” I figured out I could use the powers of the “W-Card” for evil as well as good. No, not my finest moment but hell, I had been dealt a lousy hand so I was pulling this card and using it for all it was worth … and now documenting it in this blog. You can thank me later.


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