Marrying Yourself After Becoming a Widow

A beautiful ritual in perfect timing

Hallo dear readers

Two posts this week! This one connecting to the next one coming.

As you age the likelihood is that one of a partnership will be left a widow/er, as I was, so I felt it really important to acknowledge this, especially in the light of the new Bridget Jones’ film I went to see last night (see Sunday’s post for more on that!)

Love

---

In 2011 my husband died, after a year of stomach cancer having been the third element in our 20-year marriage. As anyone who is a widow/er knows, this is an utterly devastating thing to happen, even if it’s ‘natural’ because they are towards the end of their life anyway; or if it’s expected; or even if your spouse feels ready to go.

Being left behind, as I termed it, takes quite a bit of getting used to, and I was shocked at the hammering I took as grief had it’s way with me.

One morning I woke, about a year on, realising that having my wedding ring on my finger simply didn’t feel right any more. I know this is different for different people, but for me, aged 54, having this symbol of being married when my husband wasn’t here in a body any longer just felt plain odd.

I decided to have a ceremony in the woods at the back of the house, all by myself, at the bottom of the tree where I had buried some of his ashes, and where I went sometimes to chat to him. I took off both rings.

It felt hugely important, relieving and sad and tearful all at the same time. I didn’t know why it was so important to take the rings off; I was just trusting I was doing the right thing for me.

The bare hands stayed bare only for a short while, because that didn’t feel quite right either, like I had negated our long marriage. After a fairly short while, I realised, in a flash of inspiration, that I needed to buy a new ring and marry myself. What an idea!

A lovely silver Celtic-style ring showed itself to me one day in the local high street jewellers (plus points, as I like to support the local economy).

Then a few days later, while walking on the miles of golden sand that is nearby Findhorn beach in Scotland, a beautiful stone just jumped out at me – I felt it’s message was ‘I represent the lines of your life flowing through you; the 2 halves of your life (before Philip died and after) and the crystal in the middle is your essence, who you really are’. I took it, knowing it would be important in whatever ceremony was to happen.

I waited, trusting that the next step would come to my mind whenever it would. Sure enough, the ideal place for the ceremony showed up as a memory of a spot on the Findhorn river where I had gone skinny dipping in the heat of the previous summer, and was important as a symbol of emerging to the world from the caves of grief.

So one day (having decked myself out in some new pretty lingerie, just like a bride would) I went off to the river, via a visit to a favourite cafe. Over a cup of coffee, I wrote in my journal some of my vows to myself.

Down by the rushing river, much higher than in the summer, I had a private little ceremony, with Philip’s energy in the air quietly and lovingly approving and applauding, as I placed the ring on the ‘wedding’ finger of my right hand.

I left the stone there as a memento, and came back singing all the way along the river path.

A change into a beautiful dress at home, then to my womens group and a celebration with them, with a special bottle of wine.

It was a beautiful ritual. I felt so good just trusting that whatever was right would come to mind, and I still have the ring on today, even though I have now married again and we are building a new life together.

If you know someone who you think might benefit from this post, please do share it with them. Rituals can be incredibly powerful; for me, honouring myself like this went a long way to accepting my new status in the world, and being open to a new life, with whatever that would bring.