What's In a Word, Widow Version

I’m taking some time off this week, ostensibly to prep the foods without which our family cannot acknowledge or celebrate a holiday (deviled eggs, strawberry pretzel “salad”, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie). 

I also thought I might unpack some boxes and continue to find homes for things. 

And address holiday cards so they can arrive in your mailboxes with my new address on them.

But when I was writing yesterday’s post I noted that I dislike the word “widow” and that perhaps I’d do a word study on it.  So, it was that I settled myself down in front of my computer with a piece of toast and a cup of tea and a candle that was lit and started down this rabbit hole.  Unpacking and addressing….all but forgotten.

(Also, it occurs to me that all of those Greek and Hebrew word studies I did in seminary, and still do now as preparation for sermon writing, would have been really different if AI had

been around back then.  Not better, not worse….but certainly different.  Also, for this particular parenthetical paragraph….an educated clergy matters.)

But back to the word at hand: Widow. 

In the Old English, this word has its roots in widewe, wuduwe.  From Proto-Germanic: widuwō. From the Sanskrit vidhuh,which means lonely or solitary. And from the Latin viduus, meaning bereft or void, with the root, uidh, meaning to separate or divide.

In the 1570’s the word widow became a prefix to a woman’s last name, to indicate her status (or let’s face it, lack thereof).  So, I would be known as “The Widow Hutson”, which feels both egregious and exactly right.

The place in my study that hit the mark, though, is found in the root of the Old English widewe and means to “be empty”. 

To be a widow, at almost this six month mark (see yesterday’s post, please if you think I ought to “be over it” or to note that my brain does like to keep time), is to be separated from my Beloved and so to be solitary when I long to be together.  To be emptied by all of the places where he is no longer physically present:  across the table, beside me in bed, sitting on the sofa, walking through the town/path/store/gym/neighborhood, at the theatre, at the concert.

I am emptied by his absence. 

And at the same time, oh at the same time, I am filled by his love. 

Signed,

The Widow Hutson