The Scarlett Letter

She had wandered, without rule or guidance, into a moral wilderness.  Her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely as the wild Indian in his woods.  The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread.  Shame, Despair, Solitude!  These had been her teachers - stern and wild ones - and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss. 

~Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, Chapter XVIII "A Flood of Sunshine"

Widowhood, much like the Scarlet letter, is a very solitude path that one walks until they come upon another widow, and even then not every death is the same. People try to understand your pain, going home to their loved ones at night and expressing their love to their significant others hoping that the life of their friend doesn't become their own, a very real nightmare that threatens every military family. Other people go out of their way to ignore you - unsure what to say for fear of upsetting the widow - and then talk about your pain and your life behind your back with their friends. Then there are the people who listen to those who talk about you and decide to ask the widow the questions that bug them, apologizing at the same time if they upset you.

11 months ago after being notified by my husband's command of his suicide I opted to remain on base for a sence of normalcy for my children's sake. Their life had gone through the spin cycle in the dryer - flipped upside down and tumbled around until they didn't know what side was up. I kept the kids in the school that they knew with the friends that they loved, although I did notify the school counselors of what had happened. My son ended up entering counseling with a child psychiatrist in Rapid City, and my daughter was coping with the help of her school counselor.

Summer break was quickly approaching and I had scheduled vacations and trips the entire time, thinking it was best to remain busy so we would not regress with the children and the progress they had made. Staying at (h)ellsworth through the summer made more sense as I had my friends who I could rely on to pet sit for me, and I figured I would begin the home search before school started.

Needless to say my decision to stay was the talk of the town, sorta speak. My friends were bombarded with questions about why I was staying, why I was going into work, why I was keeping the truck that my husband shot himself in, and how I seemed to not be affected by what happened. I've never been one to care about what people think of me and I often, if not all the time, don't hold back or think before I speak.

I prefer surrounding myself with people who are like me, choose to be open with their thoughts and words, and not hide behind excuses. I prefer being asked questions to my face instead of having people talk about me behind my backs, because it will get back to me - shocking isn't it?

So to those who have the courage and decency to ask me questions directly, Thank you. 

To those of you who hide your questions and choose to talk about me behind my back, Fuck you. You're really not worth my time to worry about. I don't care what you say or assume about my life. You'll never know the pain that hides behind the mask and the day you do is not a day I would wish on my worst enemy.