There was a time when the idea of “living my life” was an oxymoron. How could I take the advice to live my life when a huge section had been torn out and I was staring in disbelief at the gaping hole left behind? Why make life plans when they can be swept away permanently by a suburban going 50 MPH one summer evening at 5 o’clock? If life is…
hope for widowed
Wild Crazy Lonely Shame
I’m lonely. For several weeks I have been breathing in loneliness and exhaling it too. It soaks me in its wet, heavy haziness. Every time I look anywhere, there is a couple, together, sharing a joke, a small gentle familiar kiss, a rest of a familiar hand on the small of a back, the lack of space between themand all I can do was sigh. When will…
time after time
I keep returning here to write something. To let you all know that things are okay and that life goes on and we are happy. They are, it does and often we are. But I am feeling the weight lately of a realization. One I should have had two years and eight months ago. This is FOREVER.Not solely being without Jeff. But taking the garbage out by myself.
I’ll Never Make It That Far
I remember talking to Michele about 4 and a half years ago about a widow she had met. The woman in question had been a widow for 5 years and she was in a MUCH different place than we were (we were at about 6 months). I very distinctly remember saying I couldn’t imagine surviving this horrible life for 5 years. I remember thinking in my head that…
Search
“What do I do now?” “Where do I go?” “How do I live?” These are just a few of the many questions so many of us ask after the loss of our counterpart…our soul mate.These questions helped fill my overactive brain from focusing on the reality that I needed to stop living in a nightmare and do it…venture into the wild and find the answers for…
unfinished.
in a drawer. in a bag. some yarn. a notebook.on one page: “chunky baby sweater” on another: “cable knit baby hat” in her handwriting. those words followed by a bunch of numbers that must have meant something to her. eyes scanning the pages, finding different numbers at the top of one page: 11/7/07. at the top of another page: 12/(something)/07. a…
Contradictions
Over the past month or so I have introduced Michael as my husband in a variety of circles. The responses to the word “husband” have been fascinating to me. When we are out with a group of friends or new acquaintances, the response is enthusiastic and congratulatory. These folks are just happy to see love in action. When in the company of people…
Guide
I’ve always taken my own path. I like the fresh, uncharted dirt beneath my feet, the barren terrain of land not crossed by others. Yes, as Michael would say, I lived in the clouds, a world of my own, but he never tried to change that, and in all honesty, I think it’s one of the things he loved so much about me. It’s the Christopher Columbus in me,…
2 Years Later
I just returned from England and decided to sift through posts I wrote on my first “once-in-a-lifetime” trip after Michael was killed. This poem sums it all up…My life here without him…my presence on this earth…my impact from that which he embedded in my being. The sentiments and feelings are still the same…as well as the love:9.11.08 Wow!!…
a trip.
we needed toget away.just the three of us.so we did.off to honolulu.with no plansother than toensure thatmadeline had the timeof her life.(that’s my only real goal in life).she did.she played on the beach and in the ocean and at the zoo and even took in a couple of sunsets. none of this iseasy, but a fewmoments alone togethergo a longway in helping…
One baby step at a time…
Well it has happened. Another year has passed. I survived it. This time last year I was lamenting 40 and how impossible it was that I was alive at 40 while Daniel was forever 35. I still feel that angst…he’s 35 and each year I grow older in spite of it. I remember thinking I couldn’t possibly live another year without him…how is it possible…
“The Widow”
At Church on Saturday evening we heard a reading from the Bible that included a widow. As the lector read the word “widow,” she changed the inflection of her voice. Later, during the sermon, our priest talked at length about the widow in the parable we’d just heard. Every single time he said the word, I cringed. He changed his tone too. There was…