Widow Woman: (Memoirs of a Teenage Author)

(This is post #11 of the My Journey to Gritty: Memoirs of a Teenage Author series)


We didn’t have to stay in tents for very long. Mom’s internet-haunting finally paid off. She saw another providential ad on Cragslist.
Someone was offering two, single-wide trailers for free, to a “good cause”.
Mom immediately set off to go talk to the people offering the opportunity. She was gone for several hours, then she came back with a bittersweet smile.
It looked like we were going to get the trailers, but there was a reason they were free.

The people that were trying to get rid of the trailers were the children of a widow woman. Many years ago, when this woman was very young, she married the man she adored. They experienced a happy life together, then her husband unexpectedly, abruptly died while spending quality time with their grown sons.
When her boys came home to her with the sad, sad news, she changed. She became an emotional recluse, and stayed in those trailers night and day, bitterly mourning her husband.
Years passed. The trailers ran down, the woman grew old and sick, her children finally convinced her to move closer to them so that they could take care of her better.
And they wanted to get rid of her old home as soon as possible so that she wouldn’t go back to it.

I felt teary-eyed as I listened to the many details of the story. I had been praying for my husband for several years now, and I already felt spiritually attached to him. I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to lose him after so many happy years of marriage. I’d probably curl up and die of a broken heart or something.

The whole family went to check out the trailers. They were set up in an interesting way. The middles were cut out and a walkway was built between them. There was a lot of work that needed to be done. The roof leaked, there was mold in the walls, and animals had repeatedly soiled the carpet.
I hardly saw any of that, I was distracted with the story Mom had told us about this place’s former owner.  Then, as I walked through the abandoned rooms and sympathized with the widow woman’s pain, I suddenly got a word of warning from the Spirit of God.
“When you go through the pain of loss, don’t crumple up and stop loving,” He said. “Others will continue to need you. Keep going, even when it hurts. I will sustain you.”
I clenched my fists and looked at the beautiful wall of windows in the room that would be mine.
It was scary. But I trusted my Big Papa’s guidance.

“I wished I could run to him and make him stay as he walked to the front door, but I felt frozen in my place, unable to do anything but sniff as big tears rolled down my cheeks. He paused and looked back at me one last time before grabbing his satchel and leaving…
I felt like I’d never been so alone. One moment he had been here, with me, with his arms around me. And now he was gone again. Only emptiness surrounded me. I tried to encircle myself with my own arms, but they just couldn’t fill the void like his could. I told myself again and again that he wasn’t dead, that this would just be a temporary situation. But the gnawing dread that I was lying to myself steadily flowed into my soul until it seemed to be almost overflowing.
“Lord… I’m afraid.” I whispered in my very weakest whisper. “Please encircle me with your love. I can’t make it through this without you.””

I went back to my grandparents’ place with my younger siblings, my parents and brother spent the night at the trailers’ property so they could disassemble them.
No more tents for us. Within a couple days, we were about to have a real roof over our heads.

Click here to read the next post in this series: A Roof of Our Own

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