EMBRACING THE LATE WIFE
In the beginning of our relationship, my husband actually felt
comfortable
telling me about his late wife. There was an aura of mystery
about her,
mostly because I had not known her prior to her death. To sate
my curiosity,
I just wanted to know the answers to a few basic questions, and
my husband
was more than willing to oblige me. We were still in that
“getting to know
you” stage of newfound love, so he had nothing to lose by
sharing some basic
background information with me about her - the “non-intimate
details” of his
late wife, such as where she attended school, what job she held
prior to her
death, the cause of her death, etc.
So, for that time being, I was satisfied with just knowing the
basics.
Soon after marrying him, however, knowing more about her became
an
addiction that needed satisfying and a hunger to be sated.
The Obsession to Know Her
I remember exactly when the obsession took shape. During the
first
week of our marriage, I found a folder in his old filing
cabinet, and in it
were signed papers for an adoption process. Apparently,
unbeknownst to
me, he and his late wife had actually attempted to become the
adoptive
parents of a child. I looked at the date, and was saddened to
see that the
papers were filed in between the time she discovered she had
cancer and her
actual death.
Perhaps this meant that she regretted not having any biological
children
of her own with him, and now wanted to share parenthood with him
before
she passed away, leaving a legacy of herself behind.
Whatever her reasons, I was taken aback. Previously, my
husband’s late
wife had been, in my nave mind, just another woman from his
past. Prior
to this discovery, I had only received a simple biography or
factual resume of
her life - nothing to substantiate anything more meaningful or
intimate. But
now, with this new information, she became much more than that.
It was as if I had been in denial - an “ignorance is bliss”
sort of
reasoning - since the beginning. But now, all at once, I looked
upon her with
my heart instead of only my mind. And the realization hit me
like a ton of
bricks - she was, at one time, a living, breathing, valuable
human being. She
was a woman, with emotions, needs, and desires, just like me.
And this real
person was one flesh with my husband! In one split second, she
went from a
sheet of useless data to a real person, and I wanted to know
her…intimately.
It’s been said that the best way to defeat an enemy is to know
him, or in
this case, her. And at that time, I suddenly felt more
threatened by her than I
had ever felt by anyone else in my life. She became, in my mind,
“the other
woman”. She had not only shared a past with my husband, but a
bed, a
home, a life, her dreams, her body, and eventually, her illness
and death.
That made her special, beloved, and unique…especially to him.
Ugh! I had never really thought about it that way before! She
was so
much easier for me to deal with when I thought of her as a
one-dimensional
non-entity with non-specific details to describe her non-life!
Sure, there were
enough pictures of her to validate that she did at one time walk
this earth and
fill space…but now, I had to swallow the painful truth that she
did more than
that.
So, with my obsession pumping me with energy, I went straight
to the
source - my husband - armed with enough intimate questions as my
arsenal to
slay the beast that threatened the security and priority I had
always thought I
held in my husband’s heart. It must have been the fire in my
eyes as I
pummeled him with my ammo - questions - that made him put up his
shield,
but he closed up tight, built a wall, and refused to play my
game.
He would not share with me her faults! He would not paint a
picture for
me of their day to day life as man and wife! He would not regale
me with
amusing anecdotes of her personality! He refused to succumb to
my ploy to
bleed him dry of information pertaining to what made her
special, what made
her real, what made her…loved by him.
Oh my God, I anguished…it’s worse than I thought! This evasion
was
proof - he loved her more than he loved me! He thinks she was
perfect! And
he’s holding her up on some unattainable pedestal, where she
will forever sit,
canonized and sainted by him, every day of his life! I will
never be Number
One in his heart!
Fighting A Losing Battle With Fear
I thought my marriage was doomed. How could I share his heart
with
another woman? And how could he want to marry me in the first
place if I
meant less than she did to him?
For a year, I managed to depressingly drag my way through my
marriage,
day to day, while still holding onto the anger, and hating his
late wife more
and more. I used up so much energy doing this that I was
exhausted all the
time. My self-esteem plummeted. I dreaded his touch, for fear he
would
think comparisons…”My late wife was much softer”…”My late wife
was a
much better lover”…”My late wife….” etc., ad nauseum.
I just couldn’t take it any more, and seriously considered
divorce as the
only alternative, since there was no way I was going to spend
the rest of my
life with a man who split his love between me and a ghost. But
leaving him
would mean she had WON, and I wasn’t about to let her take him
from me
completely! There had to be a better way! I wanted validation of
my fears
and feelings.
Finally, I arranged for a session with a psychologist who was
also a grief
counselor. After sobbing my story to him, he asked me if I would
do a
simple exercise…write a letter to the late wife as if she could
read it herself.
I came very close to quitting therapy before I finally gave this
idea a chance.
“Dear Late Wife…”
But a week later, with pen and paper in hand, I drove to the
cemetery and
sat by the late wife’s marker while I poured out my heart.
Amazingly,
though, once I started writing to her as if she were sitting
right next to me, a
funny thing happened. My anger faded away, and was replaced by
sorrowful
compassion. This is what I wrote:
“….I wish I could meet you. I would have liked to have known
the kind of woman my husband chose the first time around. I’d
like to think
that because of our mutual love for him, we might have been good
friends.
And oh, I would have had so many questions to ask you! What
strengths
do we have in common? What fears do we share? What was it about
our
husband that first attracted you? What was it about him that you
loved so
much? How did he propose to you? How was your sex life? Too
personal?
OK, sorry….but it DOES cross my mind from time to time!
Do you know how guilty I feel sometimes, just knowing that I
am here only because you are not - that I am living the life
that you could
have, had you not died? Your death also left so many fears for
me…will I
ever be #1 in my husband’s heart? Will I always live in your
shadow? Will
your memory and the ghost of you always be in the back of his
heart,
overshadowing anything good he may feel for me? Will he always
hold you
up so high on that damned pedestal that I can’t get near it? Do
you know
how much I envy you? You were the “first”, and nothing will ever
change
that. I will always be just the “second”.
I know it all sounds selfish. You didn’t ASK to die, and you
didn’t want to, either. I know our husband wishes he could have
spared you
the excruciating pain you endured with cancer. I’m so sorry that
you were
too young to die. You had so much more life ahead of you, so
much more
love to share. He loved you so. But since you did die, he had to
move on. I
hope you don’t hold that against him. I’m sure that if you loved
him as you
did, you would want him to be happy.
And he is happy, really. We have a baby now. Did you get to
hold her in Heaven before she was born? Did you feel a part of
our husband
when you kissed her sweet face? I want that to be a nice memory
for you. I’m
sorry you didn’t have children. Our husband is such a great
daddy, and
for him, the sun rises and sets on his daughter. I know you
would want that
for him.
Thank you for helping to make him who he is today, the man I
love and adore. I know you had something to do with that in the
short time
you had together.”
Cleansing My Soul
When I had finished, I felt relieved. The burden of all the
rage I had felt
was instantaneously lifted from my shoulders. I cried for hours.
It was as if I
had been grieving her loss myself. I felt almost a sisterhood
with her, and
started to feel guilty about having hated her. I didn’t hate
her. I hated me.
But now, I loved us both.
When my next session with the psychologist came, I gave the
letter to
him to read. This wise, wonderful advisor looked at me with
sympathetic
eyes, and asked, “So, how does it feel to have
forgiven…yourself?”
Myself? Hmm…I hadn’t thought of it that way. But he was right.
Instead of forgiving the late wife for all the things I had
accused her of and
all the things I had conjured up in my insecure mind, I came to
accept that
since she was the innocent party, it was me who needed
forgiveness, and
only me who could grant it.
Consciously, I knew that the insecurities I had plagued myself
with were
based on hypothetical and illogical reasoning. But
subconsciously, I couldn’t
help it. I wanted someone to blame for making me feel so
insecure. I blamed
her, when I really should have taken more responsibility for my
negative
feelings in the first place.
I suppose I will always wonder about the life my husband shared
with his
late wife, and I’m sure I will always be curious about the
person she was.
It’s no longer an obsession that lives to spite her, but more of
a quiet
reflection of a woman who shares my husband’s heart. It has
taken time, but
since I have become the master of my own feelings about the past
and made
my peace with it (AND with the late wife), my life with and
marriage to a
widower has become much easier. Embracing the late wife is
relatively easy if you can humbly give credit
where credit is due, since the late wife was a perfectly
valuable person,
worthy of love and compassion. Forgiving yourself is the first
step in healing
the guilt you may bear for having blamed her for feeling rage or
hatred. The
next step is to remember that, even if you never hear a
disparaging word
about her, the late wife was not a saint. The seemingly flawless
windmills
you tilt at are only those in your mind. Embracing her only
means accepting
her for who and what she was, faults and all, including what she
gave to your
husband. But most of all, embracing the late wife means
accepting that you
two will be forever linked not by jealousy or a sense of
competition but by
the love you both share(d) with your husband.
