Becoming Madam Widow

By Katherine Webster

After the sudden and devastating death of her husband and business partner, an intransigent woman enters a period of her life immersed in fear, self-doubt and near financial ruin. Existing in a web of loneliness and isolation in the small town where she lived with her husband, she struggles to find answers and the way out of her chaos wondering every day if she should even actually go on.

This is the true story of a woman whose independence, faith and strength are rocked to the core of her being and all at a time in her life when she thought she had it all figured out. The battles, challenges and decisive action she takes will either help her sink or swim, do or die, survive or thrive.

The hard lessons she learns and the distress that confronts her are the collective elements that guide her in her quest for life after his death. It becomes a voyage complete with fear and loneliness, but also one of joy, enlightenment and finally true independence.

This is a book for all women about the mental, spiritual and emotional journey of a lifetime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Apr 23, 2018

Katherine Webster

Katherine Webster is a designer, artist and entrepreneur. After the sudden and devastating loss of her husband and business partner, she finds herself adrift in a messy and chaotic life which, although isolating and frightening, has the potential to re-create her in a new and enlightened state never to be realized any other way. Becoming Madame Widow is her first book.

Book preview

About the author

Katherine Webster is a designer, artist and entrepreneur. After the sudden and devastating loss of her husband and business partner, she finds herself adrift in a messy and chaotic life which, although isolating and frightening, has the potential to re-create her in a new and enlightened state never to be realized any other way. Becoming Madam Widow is her first book.

Dedication

To all the women in the world who have felt the catastrophic hand of grief and loss alone. This book is for you.

***

***

***

Becoming Madam Widow

Published by Austin Macauley at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Katherine Webster

The right of Katherine Webster

to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is

available from the British Library.

www.austinmacauley.com

Becoming Madam Widow

RedArrow Books is an imprint of

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

ISBN 9781787103085 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781787103092 (E-Book)

First Published in 2018

AustinMacauley

CGC-33-01, 25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf, London E14 5LQ

Acknowledgments

For my darling Lex.

When it comes to you, my thoughts and feelings are simple; there are things I wish I had said to you, and things I wish I hadn’t.

***

***

***

***

Prologue

I’ve been in Paris during all seasons of the year and each one has its own charm, but I think my most favorite time regardless of the day or month is when I am there alone. Fashion Week in this great city, a time when designers from around the world present their goods to buyers and boutiques, takes place twice a year in the early spring and late summer. I was here in March of 2015 to check out my competitors and to investigate a concept that my husband, who was also my partner in business, thought might be a successful Internet project. It was a big idea, huge, actually, but we mused that it might be something that would fill a gap in the fashion world and attract the kind of investors needed to make an idea like this go.

Traveling alone was something that I had learned to do, and I rather welcomed the opportunity to meander around at my own pace with a completely personal agenda. I was now in the habit of taking business trips and exploratory vacations without a friend or partner and had been doing so for several years. I will admit that it’s often more pleasant to share international experiences with another especially in a land where the language is foreign, but making the choice to not take excursions like the ones I had become accustomed to was a form of cheating yourself out of the glorious experiences of personal growth and joy that could never be replaced by the acquisition of material goods.

I was in my second marriage and by choice we had no children. For me, developing a smashing business of my own had been a dream since I was a schoolgirl and the idea of a traditional family proposition had never entered my mind or heart. I was a dedicated career woman and although I had yet to experience the top tier business success of my life I had a multitude of ideas, strategies and splendid plans. It was these elements that kept me going, and driving forward.

I had learned to be a reasonably astute traveler finding the most economical accommodations, transportation and dining experiences. Paris was a personal favorite city of mine and I had gotten to know all the intricate details of the varying arrondissements, the metro and the habits of the French. In the early days, I traveled with my husband to this city of light but as he was no longer as intrigued by the sights and smells of France, I began the journeys there more and more frequently on my own. He never appeared to mind. We were two independent people in a modern relationship.

I had become expert in finding jewel box boutique hotels in the most charming of French districts, close to traditional shops, quaint cafes and within short walking distances to the all-important metro. On each journey, I would frequent the old favorite spots from our past but I was always certain to discover something new and tantalizing with each visit.

This time, however, would be different. In fact, it would be the last chance I would have to see Paris as the woman I was.

In every life, there will be a moment when something suddenly changes. Something so radical and earth shattering that it will forever change the person you are. That is, if you are lucky. I had no idea, in that early spring of 2015 that my moment was about to explode into a saga that was, for me, a life altering event.

In the north, spring often arrives late. The tail end of winter of 2015 had been ferocious with snow up to our armpits and a kind of cold that, as my father used to say, would freeze the nuts off a brass monkey. While we expected that the early part of March would signal the waning days of winter and the first elements of spring, March 3 would end up as a day of full wintery punishment. My overseas flight was to depart around the late dinner hour but because of a particularly vicious ice storm that would rage throughout the day and night we left for the international airport, normally an hour and half away, four full hours in advance. As it turned out that was a wise decision because traffic was moving at a snail’s pace over the ice-covered roads and it took us almost the entire half day to finally arrive.

Large jets fly above the clouds and are therefore free of the dangers of a storm like the one we were experiencing. Consequently, my flight, although delayed, because of de-icing of the jet and runway maintenance issues, would indeed be leaving. In a few short hours, I would be blissfully relaxing in my private hotel room in the most charming city in the world.

My husband was, by nature, the most economical man who ever walked the earth. It there was a penny to be saved he would save it. I have now come to realize that penny pinching on this level is more an act of fear than it is of astute money management.

He was a communicator, that is, he loved to chat. For this trip of mine, he wanted to make sure, as always, that the two of us were in constant contact with one another no matter where either of us was in the world. In the early days of our relationship, he would use a set of cheap Walkie Talkies even at the shopping mall so he would know where I was and what I was doing. I secretly believed that he was far more interested in what I was buying if you’d like to know. As I mentioned, he was an economical man and tried his best to dissuade me from buying anything, ever.

He did his research. He had figured out that if he switched the SIM card inside my smartphone and placed it into a cheap disposable model he had acquired for just this purpose, and if I then purchased a short-term SIM card upon my arrival in France, he could call me for mere pennies any time of the day or night. This was both a pleasure and a curse as he would telephone me constantly to talk about essentially nothing, any time he was moved to.

Late in the afternoon of March 4, Paris time, I received a call from him. It was the first one since my arrival in the city. I will admit that I was terribly jetlagged and a little cranky, so naturally I wasn’t at my most pleasant. As usual, he jabbered on about something ending with the words, And that’s where I am now. For a moment, I wasn’t grasping what he was talking about as I wasn’t really listening with all I had. So, I asked in return, Where are you now? He then repeated that he was in hospital undergoing some tests for heart troubles.

His words to me were like a hard slap or a pail of icy water thrown in my face. I instantly forgot about my jet lag and began to throttle him with questions. What was going on? Was it a heart attack? What did the doctors say and should I try to book passage home as soon as I could regardless of the cost or consequences?

His voice on the phone sounded completely normal, energetic as usual and he chuckled at my concerns stating that there was nothing to be troubled about, the doctors were just taking precautions and a few simple tests were to be conducted over the next few days. In fact, he said that there was no need to panic, travel back or worry about a thing, that he would be in constant contact by phone and I should proceed with my plans in Paris scouring the town and the trade shows for the answers to the questions and ideas that we were formulating. Nonetheless, I was more than a little worried and a little stunned because my husband was a fit, high spirited and healthy sort of man with no extraordinarily unpleasant habits. Heart attacks did not happen to people like us, they were for older men who smoked, ate junk food and lived sedentary lives. The entire notion was so far from reality that it simply could not be happening.

Over the course of my trip I was in constant contact with him. He was being moved from one hospital to another and it had been decided that he needed a surgery to correct a blockage that was causing some problems with his poor heart. Naturally this news sent me into a panic and I was prepared to rush back immediately regardless of the cost to be at his side. He again discouraged this stating that surgery was not urgent and would not occur until March 12, which was a Thursday. That was two full days after my arrival home. He then apologized as he could not pick me up at the airport and I would have to find the way back myself. This was not an unreasonable request as I had forever been an independent sort of woman and it was only natural that I could manage something as simple as a bus or train ride home alone.

Friends who knew us assured me that this surgery was a commonplace procedure now and that I wasn’t to worry. In fact, some, those closest to us, even joked about him, after all, wasn’t it just like him to do whatever he could to grab my attention?

But everyone was wrong. The event of his health issue was to signal a change that would be final and permanent. You see, he died. Not right away, but seven days later after the surgery. He died with me holding his hand and stroking his arm in the ICU and from that moment on I would be forever changed. In looking back, I now see that the journey of my life began at the precise moment when he took his last breath. It was with this event that I was forced to re-invent myself and redefine my existence, something that I never could have hallucinated I would ever have to do. It was to become the story of my life.

****

Chapter One

The Anatomy of a Widow

I am a widow. A woman whose husband has died and has not remarried. That is the simplest and most efficient description of who I have become, according to the world. The picture is stark, bleak, and almost raw.

My husband died very suddenly, unexpectedly. At the time, the last thing that I could have imagined was that he was about to die and perhaps that makes the experience all the more shocking. But I have no doubt that even for those women who watch helplessly as their husbands slip away slowly and agonizingly under the brutal grip of a long and debilitating illness that the moment of his death is as stunning to them as if he had suddenly fallen off a cliff, been hit by a train or devoured by a shark.

In one moment, that one brief instant when he takes his last breath, your life changes forever. Nothing will ever be the same. No one could completely understand.

You are now a woman alone. You are single again.

The vast change that has very suddenly and remarkably happened in your life has taken you from a woman who has gone from the state of being married and comfortable, to being single and alone. But this new singleness is strikingly different from the way you were as a young girl, college student or career woman. Something that you had, and something that you were, has instantly evaporated. You didn’t trade it in; you didn’t give it away or leave it. That makes the situation markedly different from a woman divorced or even more so from a woman who has not chosen the path of marriage at all. Your new singleness is an accident of sorts, completely unique to you. It simply wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Without question, the emotions that every widow experiences after the death of someone who has played the role of the most intimate person in her life are so stupefying and so enormous that they must be shared and discussed. From my own experience, I knew I could not be the only woman feeling them. I know that this vast emotional soup is the claim of every widow. But in fact, there is an afterlife also. Naturally it consists of the desperate feelings of fear and loneliness but also the liberating gifts of growth and joy. I have experienced them all.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

Kalil Gibran

The day after, everything is grey. The new widow wanders from room to room, from sofa to chair just trying to understand what happened and why. There is so much in her world that has suddenly changed that looking forward to the future with any ability to reason is just too much of a stretch in the early days. It’s all just too hard.

One thing my experience as a widow has clearly shown me is that a single man (even a widower) is perceived as a bachelor but a single woman is seen a woman without a man, especially if she is a widow. If the statement sounds at all provocative, be aware that it’s based strictly on experience and not a single opinion. It’s the sentiment of most family members, friends and society. I know that, because I’ve lived it.

Widow. The word consumes itself.

Sylvia Plath

To begin with, every widow, including myself, inherits a great deal more than financial assets when her husband dies. She also inherits a raft of experiences, almost all brutally painful and challenging. These have almost nothing to do with his actual death (although that event alone is a shocking experience). How many new widows do you hear repeat over and over, I can’t believe he’s gone, I just cannot believe he’s gone. The shock, the overwhelming mystery of him simply disappearing, of not being in the house, in your bed, or in your life any more is indeed the most devastating experience you could ever imagine. In fact, it’s staggering. People will try to tell you about the grief and misery associated with a divorce but no divorce even comes close. I have experienced both and widowhood is far more stunning and more intense an experience than even the most vicious and painful divorce. The depth and the breadth of each single one of the experiences that are to come will be completely unique to you as an individual and they will vary in intensity as time passes, particularly in the early days all the way up to the first year and even beyond the first year. Feelings and emotions, everything ranging from anger, to fear to despair will ebb and flow like waves on a beach. There will be days when you feel liberated and empowered and other days when you sit in the dark weeping uncontrollably, convinced that you can or no longer want to go on alone. You’re in your own wilderness now and it’s like nothing you’ve ever known before.

What you are experiencing is grief, but not just for your sudden loss of a life companion, but for yourself. Suddenly the business of knowing where your life was headed, what your tasks and responsibilities were, who your friends were and so on has been turned inside out. In a sense, your life is as shattered as a delicate piece of broken crystal. You are overwhelmed not only by grief but also by a loss of control over all the circumstances of your life and just at a time when you very comfortably thought you had it all worked out.

Mourning is the constant re-awakening that things are now different

Stephanie Ericsson

I remember the day that Lex (my husband’s name was Alexander but everyone called him Lex for short) died on March 19 2015. It was the very last day of winter, grey and cold, spring seemed a long way off and it would be, especially for me. He was in hospital recovering from heart surgery which was reported to be routine. He had come through the operation with flying colors his male nurse (Nick was his name) told me and would be going home in a couple of days. But then the most tragic of interventions (was it God? Fate?) and a post-surgical problem erupted. Lex had a reaction to a commonly used blood thinner which had been administered before, during and after surgery. For most people, this drug is completely harmless and necessary for recovery, but for Lex it was the kiss of death. It took him over, consuming him little bits at a time, then slowly shut down all of his organs, and his body. I held his hand as the life and spirit drained out of him slowly over a period of three heart-wrenching days. I watched helplessly during the last minutes before he died, as the trained ICU staff began preparing for his death, shutting the blinds, pulling curtains closed, and removing his oxygen tube. The entire experience was desperately surreal, it was all moving too fast, and I wanted to stop it. I wanted to tell them, shout to them, Could we slow it down a little please, I’m not ready! but could I ever be ready for this? Of course, the answer is no. No one could ever be ready if you gave them a thousand days or a thousand years for that matter. So, then he died, and my life, and the woman I was would be forever changed. He was dead and I was alone in a way that I had never been before.

***

Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve

Earl Grollman

His death is now your great personal tragedy. You are the one that has been left behind. Nothing is as it was before nor will it ever be that way again, so you’ll have no choice but to first try to understand it and second make it work for you. Of course, that might seem harsh in the early going when you just want to curl up in a ball and hide and even that’s OK for the first little while. Indulge if you want. I used sleep as my escape, taking regular afternoon naps. When I was sleeping, I felt no fear, no grief, just a kind of peaceful darkness. It was my own little escape to a private refuge, but after a time, I knew I had to come out of this little hole I had created and begin dealing with and rebuilding my own life as a single woman. I could not sleep my life away. Scarred and wounded, my circumstances were forcing me to be strong, smart and capable. I had no choice. I had to learn to become Madam Widow.

The Early Going

In the first weeks after his death, although I was feeling overwhelmed and confused, I took some private time to try to understand my new life and the experiences that were a part of it. Making sense of it did not happen right away, I promise you. I limped there slowly, only comprehending it when I could comfortably look back over my shoulder at my broken life. It was then that I started putting all the pieces together in a new way. I learned that there were a series of components at the very heart of the anatomy of a widow well beyond the obvious. I have narrowed them into three of the most important and these include: Emotions and Grief, Practicalities, Tasks and Responsibilities and Social Isolation.

***

The First Part – Emotions & Grief

The death of your husband is probably the most powerful loss you will ever experience in your life. No matter the level of happiness and joy in your marriage or the level of strife, your mate was a part of you in an intimate and unique way. Learning to live without them is like learning to live without half of you. In the early days, weeks and months after his death you will be handed the debilitating task of learning to cope without him. This process will be more difficult than you or anyone else could expect. Your experience, the period of your grieving, will be unique to you.

If you were single and independent before your marriage, then you gradually learned over a period of months or even years to build a life with this man. That process may have been challenging because as two separate individuals with distinct personalities and unique needs, life, at times, would have taken on the form of a tug of war. But gradually, the two of you learned to live in sync and you built a partnership. Now the grave task before you is to learn to live singularly again. This process will be more complex and painful than the former mostly because of its suddenness and difficult because you’ll be traveling the road alone.

The age of a widow, the length of her marriage, how her husband died, suddenly and tragically, as in an accident, or after a lengthy illness, has almost no bearing on the after effects and the widow experience. Your grief will be profound. Emotions will be unpredictable for the young widow who has only been married for a few years but also for the widow who has spent most of her life in the most intimate kind of relationship with this single individual. The vast collection of emotions will be powerful and at times all consuming. The experience of spiritual unsteadiness, bouts of uncontrollable crying, a feeling of hopelessness, loss, even helplessness are