Chuck wouldn’t want you to be sad. Don’t you think Chuck would want you to be happy? We’ve all heard this inane statement. This inane question. It doesn’t always come from the un-widowed, either. I see it frequently in the widowed community. What a pain to listen to others speak for someone they don’t even […]
I hope, someday, if it hasn’t already happened for you, that life allows you to experience the beautiful intimacy of fully entrusting your body, your heart, your soul, your very being, into the hands of a man who will hold it tenderly, and with care. Who will cherish the gift of all you are, and […]
I have very few physical objects that have survived my 61 years, or my full time life of travel for the past 11 years. Except this one thing. This pink pic comb. I bought it back in the 70’s when I got my first perm. I was only 19 and I knew nothing about hair […]
Stay with me, my beloved husband. Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be without you in this life. Words uttered only in my heart as my hand gently touched your forehead. As my hand glided over your cheekbones, sharpened by cancer. As my two hands wrapped around your fingers, stroking your knuckles. Remembering the […]
I blame most everything on #deadhusband.
…From all that was no longer, but from what was,
Love filled with grief and searing pain and a tightening in the chest and a heaviness of spirit and a world no longer recognizable.
But…Love in all its’ power…
I write about Time frequently.
Quite often, in fact.
It’s a subject that has fascinated me since Chuck’s death~
…Welcome to the head spinning shock, disbelief, financial hurricane, numbness while feeling all the feels, terror, anxiety, fear, disorientation, discombobulation, loneliness, and generalized 100% uncertainty about the future, and every other emotion that we who are widowed experienced upon the death of our person and have lived in whatever time since their death.
In these crazy apoplectic and apocalyptical times that feel awfully like a Stephen King novel…or at least as I’ve heard his books described since I’ve never read one…
I think hard about what power I have.
I think about where I can make a difference with the power that I have.
My fingers glance gently over the clocks in the hall,
Measuring time that carries no meaning.
My slippered feet wander past rooms of memory.
I frequently remind myself of Christina Rasmussen’s words…
You can do the impossible, because you have been through the unimaginable.
Sometimes I torture myself by looking at pictures of myself when I was younger.
Not because getting older bothers me, but because it intrigues me to study them for how I looked before life disintegrated into a cloud of dust around me.