I’m staring at a blank screen, hoping that I’ll find something to say today that is entertaining, or at least interesting. Some weeks it’s been harder than others for me to crank out a thousand words or so on a blog site that is called the “Widows Voice.” It has started out being one of those harder weeks.

Here’s what I will say about my personal roiling river of emotions that defined my first weeks and months as a widower: its echoes have now largely receded behind the bend of time. Today, I am navigating calmer waters, floating in my reservoir of sweet memories of life with Lee. It’s a placid place where I can idle and bask for as long as I please.

***

However, it was not so very long ago that I would cry whenever I’d go grocery shopping. Simply, retracing her familiar path to the store and back, carrying home my groceries in her vehicle, turned out to be a trigger that would never fail to bring tears to my eyes. And it did not matter if another motorist might happen to catch these unfettered displays of sadness and grief. More than once I caught another driver glancing in my direction while simultaneously braking to a complete stop at the same red light as me.

And there were specific, isolated instances, too, I still vividly recall. For example, once I was poking around one of the drawers of the built-in breakfront, using only my hand to feel around for the small flashlight I was certain I had stuffed inside, and so to make more room I had wiggled free a small pad of paper that was also stuffed inside this drawer. I noticed that the top sheet contained Lee’s recognizable handwriting. Reading it for myself, I realized that she had written herself a reminder to buy her ten-year-old niece the latest book in the girl’s favorite series as a birthday gift but had not lived to celebrate the occasion. Well, in that instance I had suffered an emotional meltdown on the spot, momentarily feeling weak in the knees from the sheer weight of my rushing mental image of the two of them back together, singing and laughing themselves silly, joyous in the moment.

Back then, these emotionally unsettling surprise moments used to pop up with alarming frequency. In contrast, today, my day-to-day existence is quotidian. It provides little fodder for developing heart rending drama. I think it may be this transition that sometimes has made it difficult to spill out a weekly writing that is worthy of a reader’s attention. However, I want you to understand that I am perfectly content merely to plod along without the surprises.

The drag of Inertia that I would feel during those “poor me” moments of self-pity that we survivors experience is a relic of the past. Any self-doubts I might once have entertained about my abilities to carry on successfully alone have vanished, obliterated by necessity, I suppose. Today, it’s full speed ahead –at least, it is on most days.

I can’t take much credit for my positive or forward momentum away from the abject grief I experienced immediately following Lee’s death, and for months to follow. Keep in mind that caring for Lee during her fight for life against cancer was my great privilege yet doing so was not entirely divorced from the postmortem grief I was about to experience firsthand. Indeed, I am convinced my sense of impending dread during this time arose from a subconscious acknowledgement where this whole thing was headed. This foreknowledge did not make my acceptance of Lee’s death one bit easier.

***

I have heard (only from women, quite naturally) that men “handle” grief better than women. I do feel lucky to be a person who possesses an energetic and positive nature. And, if I have handled grief with some aplomb, I would like to think it was the result of these laudable character traits, and not simply a random “Y” chromosome. For those who might disagree, I recommend listening to Professor Henry Higgins’ musical lament, “why can’t a woman be more like a man?”

Further, early on I had an advantage by having the full support of everyone in my family. My own healing has been helped along immeasurably by my close friends, who continue to stand by me without reservation. Again, I understand this simply may have been another lucky roll of the dice, as not everyone will have such staunch support. Of course, it helped they all knew and loved Lee, too.

And I know this might sound ridiculous, but kudos to Lola the pup. Except for a couple daily square meals, clean and cool water, a little exercise, possibly a vigorous game of tug of war, she demands little but stands ever ready to pour her loyal affection on a moment’s notice. She truly is a wonder dog, and these days I can’t imagine my life without her. So, unless you’re one of those people who don’t favor animals, I highly recommend that you consider an animal companion of some kind (O.K., not a fish). I guarantee your animal companion will occasionally distract you from grieving, even if this effect is unintended.

Finally, I would be remiss not to mention Robyn, my lovely lady, whose presence serves to remind me of the wonderful healing effects of love when it is given to you freely by a deeply caring person, even one who most definitely is not an animal person. (She’s trying!) I am grateful that she is sensitive and tuned in to where I have recently been living, as well as for her willingness to allow me to vent about it from time to time as need arises.

However, I’d be lying were I even to suggest to you that balancing your own past and present is either easy or comfortable. Achieving such a life balance could involve moving forward with Robyn and trying to establish our unique life together, but, for me, it would have to be a life free from regrets, even the slightest gnawing guilt, that in the process of loving Robyn I would have betrayed a long legacy of life and love with Lee.

Only time will tell, of course. But I’m here to tell you that whenever I visualize this day, I am not afraid.