Two years ago, on November 17th, my husband and I were getting married. It was a chilly autumn day, and the rain paused long enough for us to gather at the registry office in New Mills for our simple, beautiful ceremony. Later, we brought close friends and family to our local pub, The Beehive, for a reception and delicious dinner. No one from…
The Bench
From the first time I met him, Stan spoke to me of his impending death. Not that he dreamt it would be happening anytime, soon. He just seemed to have a keen awareness of the one, inescapable fact of life we all share—that we will one day die. Perhaps it was his witnessing of the untimely death of a close friend that kindled his awareness.
Flight From Grief
How can I describe the strange set of circumstances that brought me here, from North America to Northern England, to this wild and expansive place, with its sloping, green hills, its mossy, stone walls, to this terrace house, built in 1889, to live the life that my husband gave to me? Over the weeks and months, you will come to know these things.