#DwightWasHere

If you’d have asked me who I was prior to 2019, I’d have recited a whole list to you; mother, daughter, wife, photographer, author, auditor, non-cook, organizer of chaos, and whatever other silly title I could conjure up quickly.

On January 14, 2019 that all came to a screeching halt.

At 1:45 am I called 911 and then spent the next nine minutes being coached through CPR by the operator, trying to save my husband until the squad arrived and took over. The memory of these minutes comes from above, as if I was outside my body, watching the events below me. I remember in between breathing for him that I kept calling his name, trying to wake him up, as if the chest compressions weren’t already intrusive enough into whatever sleep stage he was at.

The squad finally arrived and I backed out of their way. I remember grabbing a bathrobe and retreating to the doorway to frantically call my sister-in-law and my son, both of whom lived within a few miles. I sat slumped in the living room, waiting. Before long, a faceless man came out the bedroom to tell me things didn’t look good. I nodded and clutched a tissue while I silently cried. Awhile later he returned to tell me Dwight was dead. That’s how he said it, “Dwight is dead.”

He was kind about it, but the plain, simple way he said it underscored the finality of the situation. There was no room for misinterpretation or holding out hope.

Those three words changed my life forever.

Suddenly the list of who I am was null and void and a new title was put in place: widow. Oh, how I hate the word. There’s not a positive thing about it. Until now, every word I’d used to describe myself had some sort of positive connotation, but not any more.

Widow. The very utterance of the word inspires awkwardness and I’ve not yet used it in any capacity other than a box I check on official forms.

But it is what it is and in the span of fifteen minutes in the middle of the night I was hurled kicking and screaming into widow life.

I’ve stumbled through the first six months, trying to make my way through this new harsh life. I’ve quit all activities that used to bring me joy and have mostly retreated from the social media world that kept me informed and in touch. I’ve made an attempt; every few weeks I post an update, complete with rawness and honesty, and those that have read what I write have encouraged me to continue.

So here we are. A new blog for a new, albeit unwelcome, phase of life.

#dwightwashere was a hashtag I’ve used for awhile. Dwight was a fantastic cook and continually created tasty and beautiful dishes. Like everyone else on social media, I shared pictures of my lunch, giving his talent a nod with #dwightwashere.

While it’s no longer applicable to my meals, it’s now the hashtag of my life.

Dwight was here.

Past tense.

Permanent.

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