There’s a moment, somewhere between the last spoonful of lukewarm casserole and the first phone call to the life insurance company, where you realize you aren’t just sad.
You are being whammied .
If you are reading this because you’re in it right now—hand still shaking, eyes still puffy, brain still refusing to compute basic math—I see you. Let’s break down what this whammy actually is, so you know you aren’t going crazy. We expect the first hit. The phone call, the knock on the door, the silence in the bed. That whammy is grief in its pure, feral form. It’s the body blow that drops you to your knees. widow whammy
And then, two seconds later, the whammy hits: How dare you? How dare you laugh when he’s gone? There’s a moment, somewhere between the last spoonful