The Widowhood Who am I Now Blues

Identity, when I have a firm grasp of who I am, dealing with others becomes easier.

I picture a young woman reading this and saying, “Well, duh!”

The complex facets of identity on a superficial level change with the mask we put on for each other.

I’m not a diamond; I’m more like coal under pressure, so who I am has changed from when Kirt was alive. We were diamonds in the rough.

Demoted to coal under pressure, but I still know what it feels like to be part of diamonds in the rough, so happy wants to be part of my identity.

We had real love. We put each other first; that’s real love. I know what love is; it’s a part of me.

  Dealing with facets of humanity not always pleasant, I feel the barbs of my defenses grow.

Demoted from having money to head above water, the one per cent still piss me off with their shallow behavior. My crusader heart is still on my sleeve.

I’m a lonely old woman, no gently aged like a good burgundy, full bodied and lingers on the tongue.

Having read that, you, now, know I am still a positive thinker, which was hard won after Kirt’s death. I stared bitterness in the eye. My sister, Darlene, turned bitter. She became mean and spiteful. I am not that.

There’s so much more about being a single woman of age. The single part looms large because thanks to my husband; I really like men.

Identity is all I own. I need to know what's in the vault. My view of myself affects how I deal with other people and everything else.