'Til Death Do Us Part

"It's easier to be a widow than to be a widower," one of my colleagues stated matter of factly.

I choked on the tea that I was drinking when I heard this from him. Him being a guy in his late thirties, very soft-spoken and very very very very very nice. He's so nice that it pains him to pass out his own opinion. He's known to sit on the fence at lot. Ironically enough, he's a whiz currency strategist -- a career that depends on personal views and perspective when it comes to taking certain positions. And he does this every. single. day. Probably another one of God's jokes to mankind.

"It's true," he insisted, offering me some water and some tissue paper. "Men have difficulty expressing their emotions" -- altogether ladies: DUH! -- "so when they lose their life partner, it gets to really difficult."

See, if just any guy would have told me that, I probably would have thought he was just saying it for the sake of saying it. But no, this is coming from a guy who rarely volunteers anything that comes from his head. He's really nice (have I mentioned that?). His wife has ultimately hit the lottery... he's the type to open doors and to always offer his hand even in situations where he knows he can't do anything to help.

My parents had a conversation about each other's death a few years ago. It started out very casually -- like, my mum just happened to think about it and blurted it out. It didn't turn out very pretty because my dad opined that if my mum went ahead of him, he'll simply go back to his province and spend the remainder of his time there. My mum, evidently, didn't like this because she wanted him to stay in our current home and live there because she feels that they've worked so hard to acquire. It has become a legacy for them -- a symbol of their life together. Touche!

While I don't think that any of them were wrong, I understood why my dad said that. My dad was never really one to speak up (unless he feels unusually strongly about a certain issue). I'm not sure if this is due to the fact that my mother is just (extremely) strong-headed or that he's just smart enough to not go against her. I, however, reckon that my dad will have a harder time coping with my mother's loss primarily because of the abovementioned reason: that he doesn't express himself enough. I'm sure he has his own coping methods but I somehow wish that we were more involved in it. We, his children, are still learning to read him... and everyday, there's always something new to learn about him. I feel that as we get older, he deems us more trustworthy of his thoughts and feelings.

My mother, on the other hand, is an open book. Actually, that's quite an understatement. She's an open book with multi-colored highlighted lines and lots of dog-eared pages. She always makes sure that everyone knows what she's thinking and feeling... especially when she's not pleased. She's a terrible liar. Her lies just fall out of her eyes in truckloads. She's also good at piling guilt on us (something that I'm convinced that this comes with the maternal instinct package that mothers automatically receive once they pop their first-born).

The fact that I know that my mother will be shattered into talcum powder if (knock on wood) my dad goes first goes to show that she will be fine -- eventually, at least. And I know this because she tells me. My dad, on the other hand, I have absolutely no idea. He'll probably be less obtrusive in his kids' lives but there's really no way of getting in his head. And somehow, that scares me.

Secrets scare me, as a matter of fact. Nevermind that this statement is coming from a person who never runs out of them. I like knowing what's going on... and what's going to happen. I like being kept in the loop. What they say about what you don't know doesn't hurt you -- bollocks! It simply gears you to get even more hurt once you find out the truth. And trust me, the truth always comes out somehow... whenever it may be and whether we like it or not. And no matter how distant you are from the truth (time-wise and geographically), it will still hurt.

Anyway, I digress.

I hope that I won't have to find out the truth about whether or not it's easier to be a widow any time in the near future (or at all, if I can help it). It's a very sad thing to think about. Losing a life partner -- a best friend -- must be indescribably tough. Break ups are bad enough but at least there is still that thread of hope we cling on that a reconcilation is still possible.

I no longer have living grandfathers. My maternal grandma has outlived her husband for almost twenty five years now; my paternal one is on her fourteenth year of widowhood -- and still struggling. I don't know how they do it but they sure are doing one hell of a job. Bless them both.

A dear friend once told me that it is indeed possible for people to die of a broken heart. It's not accepted by science, but it still is possible.

I don't know about everyone else, but that must be the worst way to die. To die of a broken heart.