He weeps without making a sound, tears quivering in his eyes, then escaping down his unshaven cheeks. This group seems up on its diseases.Ī silver-haired man whose wife also died of cancer says that now when he gets up in the morning he doesn't have to poach his wife's egg or run her bath, and he doesn't see the point in getting out of bed. My name is Sophie and my husband passed away of Hodgkin's disease, which is a type of cancer young adults get. My name is Sophie and I live in San Jose and my husband died. No wonder people fear public speaking more than death or heights or spiders. after all that time being single!Īs we go around the room introducing ourselves at the grief group, my heart drums in my chest. I just got used to the idea of being married, only test-drove the words my husband for three years: My husband and I, my husband and I. How can I be a widow? Widows wear horn-rimmed glasses and cardigan sweaters that smell like mothballs and have crepe-paper skin and names like Gladys or Midge and meet with their other widow friends once a week to play pinochle.
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