Grief / Love life

A love letter to my widows

I’m drunk alone. Again. Dead wife etc etc.  I’m sitting cross legged on my sofa on which I had sex with TG#2  two nights ago, where once upon a time, many years ago, I had sex with my wife.   I’m overly relying on spell check in the hope that I won’t coming across like an idiot with minimal qualifications, rather than a professional with a world class degree.  I have a bottle of champagne in my fridge which I may or may not get to.  Not that anybody special gave it to me or I have anyone to share it with – it came courtesy of my company as a Christmas present. Thanks. It’s now February. I have no friends.

I know that each wid amongst you is wishing that today, Valentines Day, your late partner were here to sweep you off your feet, buy you gifts and cover you with kisses. To write you a silly note in a hideous card using pet nicknames (mine is Weasel), take you for dinner in an overpriced restaurant with paltry food, tickle you until you wriggle and giggle with glee.  There may be a handful of you who are angry, who hate them, who are glad they’re dead.  Fair enough.  But for the most part, I’m reckoning that you are desperately praying you’ll wake up cosy in bed with your other half, in your perfect fit couple sleeping position, feeling the warmth of pyjamas and skin against one another, sweetly kissing and cuddling until it starts to become more heated and then, oops, suddenly you’re naked and fucking. I get it. I really do.

Well, shit happens.  They died.  They’re gone.  I’m so sorry it has happened to us. I’m so sorry that this is all so unfair.  I’m so sorry that dates like today trigger a wave of grief, that even though we try to pretend that they’re insignificant, they’re really, really significant.  A Hallmark Holiday that is totally fabricated?  Yes – but one that fucking hurts. I don’t even know who the heck Saint Valentine was, but I know that since being widowed, I think he’s a total fucking knobend.

But my wids are far from knobends. My wids have kept me going.  So in the absence of having a wife to read my love notes, here is my Valentines letter to my wids:


My dearest wids,

Happy Valentines Day.  Do you know why it’s happy? Well, it’s happy because I found you.  When I thought my world had ended, that I had no hope, that nobody could understand how my soul was imploding, it was you who were there to listen and guide.  It wasn’t my friends.  It wasn’t my family.  You felt how I felt – you understood .  Without you, I wouldn’t feel an ounce of life in me.  I know now that I can survive without you, but I’m a better woman for your support and insight. Thank you for picking me up when I was down, for inspiring energy in me, for teaching me lessons, for making me laugh, for crying with me, for sharing my excitement, for being with me through the milestones. Thank you for sharing in my successes, laughing at my spectacularly embarrassing fuckups, and for joining me on this Eerily Cheerily ride.

I love you.

EC x


And just in case she is reading, a note to my wife:

Dear Weasel,

I miss you.  I don’t cry every day anymore, but I love you more than ever.  You had the best hair, the best laugh; you were the most ridiculous woman I ever knew and I loved being ridiculous with you. There just aren’t any words…

Measure in love.

Weasel Wife x


PS – Please follow me and comment below if you like my writing 🙂

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3 thoughts on “A love letter to my widows

  1. Thanks for coming over to say hello on my blog. I hope you survived Valentine’s Day. Thank you for the reminder to treasure what I have instead of always looking to see what is missing.

    Liked by 1 person

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