Summer has started here in Texas and the heat is on. Grayson has started his series of summer camps, and we’re looking forward to our birthday trip over the 4th of July weekend. Ten years old. It’s hard to believe that my little guy will be 10. He was 5 when he lost his dad, and I was so afraid that he’d be permanently damaged by the whole…
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Facing My Fears
It has been a long time since I have really shared my life with a man. Four years, ten months, and seven days to be exact. In that time I have learned to juggle life as a single parent, a single person, a sole provider, the sole tenant on my mortgage…I have become accustomed to the fact that the buck stops with me. For the last two weeks I have…
Shhhhhh!!!
Shhh! Do NOT talk about them. Do not bring them up in conversation! Pretend they don’t exist. Proper widows talk about proper topics. These two topics are socially don’t-ask-just-assume-the-best topics. Only the bold among my friends will broach the subjects.SEX and MONEY Sex with a man I like is delicious, scrumptious, enticing, drug like,…
Memorial Day is Everyday for a Military Widow
This past week I found myself in Washington, D.C. for the National Memorial Day Concert. Accompanied by some of my greatest widow friends, we spent the weekend catching up, visiting fallen loved ones at Section 60, night walks around the monuments, searching of names for our Vietnam widows and more. All in all it was a weekend above all Memorial…
moving day
In times of stress and unease, I occasionally look for quotes to use as a mantra to repeat when necessary. So tomorrow as we move from the house that we shared with my beloved best friend/husband/father of our little ones, I will be repeating yet another appropriate phrase in the hopes of easing the fear, sadness and sense of loss that this change…
here
i’ve been here, in this place. but when? was it twenty five years ago? maybe eight? yesterday?no. it was thirteen years ago. and it was almost four years ago. i was here. she was here we. we were here. but it was different. thirteen years ago it was an awkward meal with people who didn’t know me. but she made it comfortable, even fun. ……
It Should Have Been ……
…. our 27th anniversary. Friday. The 28th. It should have been. Instead, it was the day our oldest child/daughter graduated from graduate school. And I was with her. Just me. It should have been us. But it wasn’t. It was just me. Again.I get tired of it being just me. For everything. Every big day. Every “first day of ….” Every “last day…
Resting In the Riddle
Musical Tuesday for me. I went to the Indigo Girls concert this weekend. I loved them in college and it was such fun to see them so many years later. My sister-in-law Leslie and I went and were not disappointed. It was a fantastic show. They closed it out with one of my favorite songs “Closer to Fine”.I’m trying to tell you something about my life…
The Meaning of Sacrifice
There was a time that I could not imagine being a widow. There was a time when I didn’t know that widowed people come in all shapes and sizes. There was a time that I knew the dictionary definition of the word sacrifice, but I had no idea how that word fit into the widowhood experience.Since I began leading an organization that creates a network of…
Stumbling
I stumble upon his stuff. His filled wallet, his watch , 4 sets of contact lenses, his favorite pair of running/bicycling glasses, a book marked where he meant to begin again, a note with his handwriting, I pick up each one when I find it.I examine it, turning it in my hand and then I smell. Hoping for a trace of him. Gratefully, there is none. Too…
the myth of the broken heart
I don’t follow a lot of celebrity news. In fact, the older I get the more I have no idea who these people are who grace the pages of the tabloids at the grocery check-out counter. Our society’s idolatry of these ‘super-humans’ baffles me and highlights the blatant differences between ‘us’ and ‘them’.Recently however, the death of an actress whom I…
a voice
on my stomach, the pillow over my head, right ear pressed to the mattress. i can hear her voice resonating through the springs below,the vibration reducing the words to nothing more than a mumble. the voice, unmistakable, but she’s not in the room. …