identity

The kids and I have had three special days together in Florida. Traveling is full of memories and re-experiences of B’s passing. Sad, but expected. Still, we had fun, played games, and enjoyed being without schedule. We selected our resort by the lazy river, a priority that did not disappoint. Even though the weather was unusually cold for Florida, the heated water allowed us to lounge under the water surface for hours. We capped our mini vacation with a Disney-style safari through the grounds of the Animal Lodge and had a surprisingly good dinner at the resort afterwards.

The meal was part of a package where we dined with our new safari compatriots. One couple was supposed to be meeting their children and grandson, but the latter canceled due to fever so they were at Disney on their own. The other duo included a woman celebrating her 60th birthday along with her son. When it came time for our family to share what brought us to this special moment, I looked to the kids for advice. Part of me wanted to say - my husband died three weeks ago and we’re here trying to pick up the pieces - but I knew it wasn’t appropriate. I looked to the kids for what they felt comfortable saying, and TE answered that we were just there to relax and get away.

This was the first time I faced this question of what others assumed when they saw us. I’m used to being part of a complete happy (or arguing) foursome. I’ve taken trips lots of before with just the kids and me, but there was always the fourth at the end of the text thread, connecting with us every step of the way. When Bart existed but wasn’t there, I never thought about how we seemed. Now through other eyes, was I a single mom? Divorcee? Does it matter?

I suddenly felt something that I never had control of anyway… but I suppose I noticed it now because for the first time the generally assumed view of me is likely inaccurate. Not just because I am a new widow… but also realizing that the tragedy of our life is too jarring to share without disrupting the evening. I came to face with the fact that our narrative is different than our superficial symbol in the world. This identity clash is not exactly comfortable, but it’s also not the worst thing in the world. Millions of solo parents, for whatever the reason, have braved this journey before us. We can do it. It’s just different. And, we would prefer to instead have Bart back.