SOLTuesday: Widows Galore

            Widows’ Words: Women Write on the Experience of Grief, the First Year, the Long Haul, and Everything in Between, an anthology from Rutgers University Press (which I have a piece in) had its pub date last Friday. On the weekend, the editor, Nan Bauer-Maglin, gathered together more than half of us for a book party.

            We were in the lovely Upper West Side apartment of another contributor, and most of us were meeting for the first time. In one case, five women had collaborated, sharing their experiences in writing with each other, while one who was a writer brought their experiences together—yet none of them had met face-to-face until last weekend. One woman had come from Michigan, another from Virginia, another from the U.K. Some brought new partners or husbands, others (like me) brought a friend—and in true small world fashion, my friend found

work colleagues there who were related to the contributor from the U.K.

            I knew the anthologist and one other contributor, and had met yet another contributor at another book party the day before, so reading their essays filled in details about them some of which I knew already, others I was learning for the first time. But it was helpful to see the faces of those whose contributions I was just reading; they can stick in my memory much better now that I can see the face of the writer.

            We will see more of each other as we hold more book events—one contributor is also an artist, and at the gallery where her paintings are now on exhibit, there will be a book reading in on Thursday, May 9. I’m not reading at this one, but probably will at a bookstore event in the fall.

            It was, as many experiences widows share, fun and bittersweet.

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There are many boring, yet distracting, things a widow must do: notify Social Security, notify any financial institutions, notify insurance companies, notify credit card companies, things like that. Our New York Times home delivery was in my husband’s name, therefore he got the e-mails of special events and special offers. If I wanted to get those, I had to call the paper, explain the situation, change the e-mail address, change the user name and password. Time consuming, yes, but it’s something concrete to focus on and separate myself the situation requiring it.

            Today I went to the Social Security office. In order to claim my husband’s last Social Security check, which had been intercepted by the Treasury Department when it learned of his death but which I’d been informed I am entitled to, I had to produce the actual marriage certificate, his birth certificate, and his death certificate. Copies would not do; they had to be the originals. I actually had all these documents, and I didn’t want to send the originals off in the mail – they could get lost; they might not get returned. So I went to my local Social Security office.

            When I entered the building, the security man at the door asked what I needed. I said, “I’m going to the fourth floor.” He asked what I needed to do there (to make sure I was going to the right place?), so I had to tell him, “I’m applying for widow’s benefits.” It’s getting harder to say it, not easier. He said the obligatory, “I’m sorry for your loss,” but he looked a bit taken aback.

            Upstairs, there was a touch screen receptionist, asking my purpose and then spitting out a number, which was called about an hour and 45 minutes later. Fortunately, I had brought a book. When my number was finally called, I was directed to window 5, where, behind bullet-proof glass like you find in banks, say a young man who remembered talking to me on the phone two weeks before. He looked at my documents, recorded unknown bits of information on his computer (I couldn’t see his screen), xeroxed my documents, and that was that. I will get that extra check. I will get $20 more in my Social Security payment each month. Now on to my husband’s pension, which I will continue to receive.