Widow.

I keep seeing that word and thinking, “This is who I am now. I am a widow.” But then I think, “No. No way. I am too young for this. This cannot be true. Vance cannot really be gone. ” But I am apparently just the right age and this somehow is my reality. I will never see him again. I am a widow. 

I am a woman who has lost her lover, her confidant, her back up, her friend. I am a woman who longs for the strong arms of her husband to hold her while she cries, as I have cried for every one of the last 47 days. I am a widow. 

I have lost my co-parent, my sounding board, my balancer. My life partner is gone. Forever. I am a widow. 

People keep saying I am not alone. But in the middle of the night, in this king sized bed that we used to share, there is no one softly snoring beside me. I am a widow. 

This is a label I do not want. I would much prefer to once again simply be his wife. But alas, I am a widow.