Widow...

Widow....that is a word I associate with little old ladies in black dresses and veils.  How can I possibly be a widow?  I'm too young, I don't own a dress, let alone a black one; I have some gray hair...but not that much, really and I don't do veils!(that would be way too girlie).  I don't like being called a widow, or referenced to as Don Mumford's widow.  I am Don Mumford's wife!  Yes, he is gone, believe me, I know he is gone.  But why do we have to use the word widow.  Another thing I associate with that word...widow..is of course the Black Widow Spider and anybody who knows me, knows how I feel about spiders. It is NOT a good thing.  (Spiders could be removed from God's green Earth for all I care....I hate the creepy, eight legged, web weaving arachnids!)
Being called a widow, to me, is an instant reminder of death, of the loss I am experiencing, of the last moments I spent with Don, how we were smiling and laughing, how he kissed me as they wheeled him away, how I told him I loved him and would see him in a few hours..... when the doctors came out to tell me he was gone, of the intense pain and agony I felt at that exact moment.  When someone refers to me as Don's widow; it all comes rushing back in a whirlwind of emotions, I mean I actually feel lightheaded and uneasy in my stomach.  How can one word have that much power?  How am I going to get passed this?  I don't like labels or stereotypes...I'm just Debbie!