By Judy Small,
I never saw my mother cry
Until the night my father died.
Married nearly 40 years,
And his dying had been hard.
I remember how the family came
To share the grief, the tears, the pain,
And how her friends all gathered round,
And all the black-rimmed cards.The funeral was a large affair,
The civic fathers all were there,
And mother held up stoic'lly,
She never shed a tear.
But everyone there understood
That she had entered widowhood.
Though life would never be the same,
Her status now was clear.
And there were tears for the widow,
Tears for the widow,
For the woman who had lost her love
And must carry on alone.
And mother still writes "widow"
In the space on all the forms.
It's part of her identity,
Like her grey hair, or her name.
My friend Amelia lost her love
To cancer's slow and painful glove.
The dying was no easier
Than my father's was back then.
No black-rimmed cards came to her door,
Her grief and anguish all ignored,
Except, of course, for closest friends
Who tried to understand.Her lover was described by all
As a single woman living well,
A tragic loss to family
Taken well before her time.
When Amy left the funeral home,
She travelled to their house alone,
And sat among familiar things
And wept into the night.
And there were no tears for the widow,
No tears for the widow,
For the woman who had lost her love
And must carry on alone.
And Amy still writes "single"
In the space on all the forms,
But she rages at the lie it tells,
And the loss that it ignores.
And who knows how many other women
Live their lives in shadow,
Unrecognized, unsympathized, Unseen and disallowed,
Who've lost not only lovers,
But often hearth and home.
For "marriage" is a special word,
And only meant for some.
And there are no tears for the widows
No tears for the widows
For the women who've lost lovers
And must carry on alone.
And life goes on, but for them
There is no space on any forms.
For "marriage" is a special word,
And only meant for some.
- Judy Small
©1990 Larrikin Music Publishing