Seriously there are just not enough hours in the day. And then when I think about it, there aren’t enough days in the year, or years in a life. There’s always so much to do…so much stuff to deal with, bills to be paid, shopping and work to do…I can’t remember being this busy when Mike was still alive, at least after we closed our…
widowed memories
Reach Deep, Find Warmth
I have been nestled inside the winter for months, it seems. It has been so cold and dark. Even today, at the end of April, spring struggles to gain a grip, the wind and rain overtaking its warm and promising breezes, painting the hilltops white, again, pouring pellets of icy hail onto the ground. This weekend, there are predictions of frost.
By The Sea, On My Own
It is a glorious spring day on the northern coast of England, and I am seated on a bench overlooking the sea, in a village called Robin Hood’s Bay. It is an ancient settlement, with remains found that date back 3000 years, and first mentioned by a topographer of Henry the VIII in 1536.Yesterday I walked to this village from Whitby, where I am…
Tender Touch
I awakened last night, and reached for my husband in the dark, only to find that now familiar, empty space, instead. And I remembered how I would drape my leg over his, at night, and press my stomach against his back. Sometimes, he would stir, slightly, and tell me to take my leg off of him. He said my legs were too heavy. He referred to them as…
Shape-Shifting
This confusing, weird, strange, life as a widow.I’ve stored PinkMagic for a couple of months while I’m here in Arizona, while I take a break from the road to write my book and rest a bit. While I’m here, I’m staying with my son and his wife and family, which is wonderful and I know that they’re happy to have me but…my mind….oh, my mind and…
Dancing Anyway
An evening out with friends to listen to my new guy’s band on the water’s edge here in Kona. Drinks, laughing, dancing. I catch myself: what am I doing here? I can’t believe how much my life has changed. I gaze out to the stars hanging over the ocean waves and mentally reach out to Mike, as I so often do. Are you out there, honey? Can…
A Forgotten Card
Ian and I never particularly did Valentines day. Although I *like* getting the gifts and stuff, I never felt it a necessity. It’s a more than a bit over-commercialised to me, which is thankfully quite a protective view-point in my after. But the day still holds memories. Some good. Some that trigger a sense of guilt.John was born in the late…
There are Places I Remember
The poem says that April is the cruellest month, but I think it might be February. In England, February is filled with grey days and clouds. We search in vain for spots of sun on the horizon. We witness the lengthening moments of daylight and cling desperately to the vague promise of spring. For widows, February brings Valentines Day, a…
Too Short
Valentine’s Day. Another very difficult time of year for many of us widowed people. Two years ago, Mike came in the door with a delighted grin on his face. He brought me a big box of chocolate from our wonderful local chocolatier, and a new garden hose I’d been wanting, in its own new gift bag he had purchased along with a beautiful…
No Circle
Not sure what I want to write about tonight, but I will begin by telling you where I am. Lobby of Marriott hotel, Tampa, Florida. Attending and presenting my comedic performance for the 6th time at Camp Widow. All of the camp events officially begin in the morning, but Ive been here since yesterday afternoon, and have already reconnected with old…
Forever
No matter what else is happening on any given day or who I am with, Mike is never gone from my mind. I realize now, after 23 months, that he never will be. One never “gets over” the death of a beloved spouse. I think we just learn how to live with it. One way or another, we slog or float through our days, even though sometimes we don’t want…
A Cuppa Tea
This has been a difficult week. I have re-entered the work arena, on a ‘phased return’, as they call it, here in England, and, Tuesday, I had to go speak to someone from Occupational Health, to justify my time away, and my continuing to work part-time for a few more weeks. This meant I had to recount the story of the tragic day my husband died.