Now and then, I sit down before the computer on the night before my post is due for Widow’s Voice and stare blankly at the screen. Mentally, I examine my current thoughts, my day’s mullings, recent happenings. I gleen for any unprobed areas of the loss of Jeff…..and find none.

It’s not often that this happens. But occasionally, there is quiet. An acceptance. A compliance with what is.

Jeff has yet to return from his voyage to “Heaven”. The kids and I still miss him. His clothes still inhabit his drawers.

But at times, the ache is subdued and the crying is quieted.

It is these times that I fluctuate between joy at the thought of recovery, pleasure from the lightness acceptance brings, sadness that this may mean that I am moving away from ‘him’ and guilt that the pain is not so pungent and painful.

But I know I’ll fret for awhile, worry about what to write, go to sleep and wake up thinking of something I wish he could have heard Briar say, remembering how he loved to eat hot dogs wrapped in pilsbury croissant dough and cheese (SO greasy and revolting the thought actually still turns my stomach) and wondering if it’s true that daughters are more likely to be promiscuous without their father in attendance…..And the next week, there will be no loss for words….