There are things that people assume about the widows: that their days revolve around weeping and pacing their homes, now haunted with the memories of their lost beloved (true!), that what they need more than anything is a hot dish in the freezer (also true!), and that their dead partner is now sainted, deified, their corporal shortcomings washed away as they passed to the other side (sometimes true!).
But there are as many versions of widowhood as there are fish in the sea (probably more, given the state of our oceans), and if the title of this book didn’t tip you off…this is not a memoir about a woman shining up the pristine memory of a flawless dead husband.
Grief is always complicated, but it’s made infinitely more complicated when your husband dies unexpectedly and without time to disclose or resolve his many indiscretions (what a gentle and inadequate way to describe extramarital affairs, drugs and porn addiction!!!).
The premise (her real, actual life) is a jaw-dropper, but so is…