Little Triggers Everywhere

Reminders that cut in a thousand ways

Today, I received an email from the automobile manufacturer from which we bought my car in 2013. Once again, it was an email to my husband in my inbox with his full name on the subject line stating that they had an offer for him. Too bad it is an unmonitored inbox because it would be much easier to email them and say, “Please change the name on this list to mine as he died September 20, 2022.”

I changed all of this in October 2022 as I had to renew the tags on my car and couldn’t do it before changing the Tags and Title into my name. He had already been removed from the car insurance, and I had changed the information with the manufacturer.

There’s a gap in the system somewhere.

These little triggers are everywhere.

From these emails wanting to buy my “highly sought after vehicle” to pieces of mail soliciting for one thing or the other, to the catalogs and magazines with his name on them. I never subscribed to Golf magazine, nor did he, but it shows up here monthly.

And here I sit, feeling beaten and downtrodden, wondering how many of these little cuts it will take before I bleed out onto the hardwood floors. This Widow’s Bullshit is a reminder that these are the things you aren’t taught in school and no one talks about after the loss of your partner.

I have dealt with technology enough to know that no system is seamless, but you would think with all the changes, including at the dealership on the records, that it would at least cross the dealer’s system.

But no.

Another day, another reminder of what I have lost. That I cannot forward this email to him to say, “Hey, they have a special on detailing,” or “This is a good coupon; maybe it’s time to get that transmission flush. We’re only a few thousand miles from when it’s supposed to be done.”

I can’t do any of that, and I am so fucking angry. It’s not fair. Life is not fair. I do not have my partner, the one I had made all of these plans with, and my life, which I thought I would have, will never happen.

And tonight, with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders, I am broken.

So I sit here, bleeding on this page, praying for a good night's sleep and that tomorrow, tomorrow, I will wake up on the right side of the bed, the red, raw, seeping wounds closing over, once again ready to check my vibe and keep moving forward.

Widow’s Bullshit, indeed.

Photo by Brian Patrick Tagalog on Unsplash