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I am a divorced widow.

Sonny and I were married for 22 years.  We divorced in February of 2001.  It was not a blood and guts divorce, we pretty much agreed to disagree.  Seven months later, 9-11, as I sat watching in horror the planes slamming into the World Trade Centers on the Today show, my phone rang.  It was Sonny.  His profession was riverboat Captain.  He was on the boat, but had been listening to the news. 

"Are you all right?"  It was the question of the day.  He and I were both stunned and shocked at what was happening in our country.  I know people everywhere were calling loved ones asking the same question. 

"yes, I am fine, have you talked to Kayla?"  Our daughter had just turned 18 and was living with him at the time.   "No, I called you first.  I will call her and call you right back."   He did.  I had to go on to work, but he called again that evening.  We reopened the lines of communication and over the next few weeks rekindled the spark that had been lost somehow over the past few years.

We quickly realized that the reasons for our divorce were not insurrmountable....that there were way bigger things to be concerned about.  I think a lot of people had realizations that day and ours was that we really did love each other enough to work through whatever problems we had.   

We dated.  We talked.  We laughed.    We didn't share our rekindled relationship with our families  yet.  We needed to make sure that we really were going to be ok.  We didn't want to have to explain things if we ultimately decided that we would remain apart.  But our daughter, Kayla, had figured it out.   She was really sure of it when two dozen roses, some red, some white were delivered to me on December 21.  Our anniversary.  Life was good again.  The holidays came and went, still without me going to his family celebration or he to mine.  The new year looked more promising than I could ever have imagined a few months before.

January was really strange, weather-wise.  We had a lot of warm days for West Virginia that year.  Early on the morning of January 31, he was going to pick up friends to play golf.  His truck went off the road, took out several fence posts and overturned, throwing him out.  He was dead at the scene.  He was either unconscious or already dead when his truck left the road.  There were no brake marks.  There was no where it appeared he had tried to correct the path he was taking.  He was gone.  My husband was gone.  

The next few days were a blur.  His family didn't believe Kayla that we had mended our fences.  They didn't believe me.  His Dad actually asked me to leave their house that day and never come back.   In their pain, they could not see mine.  They offered no sympathy to me.  "You are not his wife anymore."  I was devastated.  I had been part of their family for 22 years and that meant nothing to them?  I could not, still don't, understand.  They were so uncaring and unfeeling of my grief, so consumed with their own.  I went to the wake, but the family had met early to view his body and then had the casket closed.  So I could not see him.  They wouldn't let me say goodbye.  The next day his oldest son by a previous marriage actually refused to let me attend the funeral!!  I was turned away at the door.  My 18 year old daughter had to bury her Daddy without her Mother by her side.  It was horrible.  The funeral director let me in the back door to the office.  There I sat with Bev, my best friend, and listened to the service over the speaker system.  I could hear my baby girl sobbing.  I could not go to comfort her.  I was beside myself.  After the service, as they were loading the flowers into the van and carrying Sonny to the hearse, one of his brothers saw me at the back of the building.  He made a point to tell me to not go to the cemetery, they would call the police!!  I was stunned once again.  It was if he just punched me in the gut.  I nearly collapsed to the ground, but my uncle caught me and help steady me.  It was unbelievable.  I was living a nightmare.  All of my family  had loved Sonny and they  were there.  They were stunned speechless.  None of them could believe that these people could be so cruel.    But it was real.  It was all so horribly real.     My family rallied around me and took me home.   They didn't feel welcome to go to the cemetary either.  Thank God for my family.  We remembered our good times with Sonny at the farm that day and still talk about him, keeping his memory alive for the younger ones who thought Uncle Sonny was the coolest ever! 

I have had no contact with that family since then.  Why would I expose myself to people treating me that way?  And not one of them has ever tried to contact me.  They apparently didn't reconsider what they were feeling on that day.  They did not care about me.   Since then, both of his parents have passed.  On each of those occasions, I struggled with knowing I could not go and pay my respects.   But they had made clear their feelings on that Super Bowl Sunday in 2002 when Sonny was laid to rest.     I was not going to compound their grief of losing their parents for my little bit of peace of mind.  I sent a prayer their way and tried not to feel guilty.  I wondered if they had someone posted at the door to keep me away if I had tried to go...but I didn't test that.   It would have served no purpose. 

I am a divorced widow.