Sucker Punch

By Deborah Gaines

The average age at which a woman becomes a widow is 59, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. This statistic may not shock you if you’re young enough to think forty is ancient. But I was surprised when I first read it, shortly after my husband was diagnosed with cancer at 56, and bowled over when I lost him three years later.

We’d only been together eight years when Jerry died, but neither of us had any doubt the marriage would last. It was a unicorn: two weary fifty-somethings caught up in a storm of passion, safely moored by friendship and humor. Even then, it wasn’t easy. As I often commented (because by that age you repeat everything), I never wanted to divorce Jerry but I frequently thought about killing him.

Then suddenly he was gone, leaving a splendid legacy of public service and a 59-year-old widow who could not have been more pissed off. At his death, which was brutal. And at the universe for taking him too soon.

Except it wasn’t soon — it was average. Half the women in this country will bury their partners before I did. Writing that sentence opens a deep well of grief in my stomach. I can see my reflection in the water, looking tired, anxious, and old.

Grief this profound is something no one believes can happen until it does. When people say “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” I want to reply, “Enjoy your ignorance. You’ll be here before you know it.”

But here’s the good news: People who endure loss develop a greater capacity for joy. I don’t know how this happens, only that it does. Somehow — in between screaming, throwing up, and refusing to get out of bed — happiness starts to creep in.

I first noticed it among the widows in my cancer support group. Sometimes we cried in each other’s company, but more often, as time passed, we were giddy with laughter. Computer dating, greedy relatives, yoga class — everything was hilarious. Three years in, we are a rollicking bunch, the life of any party.

Brené Brown famously wrote that joy is the most terrifying emotion. Anyone who has watched their baby sleep and imagined tragedies lurking ahead — from crib death to car accidents — knows exactly what she means. We tempt fate if we allow ourselves to lean in to the joy of the moment. “It’s as if we believe that by truly feeling happiness, we set ourselves up for a sucker punch,” Brown said.

Widows take the hit. The worst has already happened, so what do we have to lose? News flash: Life is more painful than we ever imagined. More raw, more real. More precious.

How do we bear it? One joyful moment at a time. One smile. One hug. One downward facing dog.

It’s all we have. But we understand that it’s enough.