Shelby needs to have an example of what a caring, devoted man, father, and husband should be. She is a mere 8 years old, but I believe most readers here will understand when I state that, well, I might not be here by the time she’s 18. It’s a cold, hard truth that should never be swept under the rug or glossed over, and I can unfortunately…
widower
Expect the Unexpected
Megan had not only given me permission to “move on” again once she was gone, she had outright demanded it, years before she died. She refused to take my heart with her, leaving a hole in me that could never be filled. This is why, in the deepest pit of my soul, I believe she has brought someone new into my life in the best way…
A Place of Existence
For years, I have wandered outside. When I was very young, on through my teenage years, I would often times find myself on my Aunt’s cattle farm, traipsing around the back lots, playing in the creeks, or just generally exploring the land and finding interesting spots to spend time with my brother and cousins. We were always outside. We…
“Until my dying day…..”
“…until my last breath.” My wife Megan and I had those words tattooed onto our forearms on February 8th, 2014. It was my suggestion, and she was completely taken aback by it. Not because she wasn’t sold on the idea of a little ink (she had sixteen tattoos already), but because I suggested it and came up with the whole plan. I only had two…
Secluded Paths
Maggie kept the beat in our relationship when it came to social engagements. She injected me into a lively social world that held me captive to weekends packed with activities, most of which were not optional. Now, without her overwhelming influence, I find myself woefully disengaged with what I think most people would consider normal life. We had…
The Backpack
The other day, a post-Maggie friend asked how I became so well adjusted, having put all the stuff that happened behind me. I was careful not to snort my drink through my nose upon hearing her well-intended question; such a reaction might have been confusing to her. When I asked what she meant, she described how she thought I had such a great…
My Battle Axe
( I’m filling in for Amanda because the storms in Australia have knocked out Internet access. She’ll be back again next week.) I’ve got a battle-axe that I carry with me everywhere I go. I’ve had it since Jan 5, 2007 when it was given to me by a doctor who said the words “cancer” and “urgent.” Its blade is sharp and still bloody…
Almost time to say goodbye
Maggie died in May 2009. I’ve been writing on Widow’s Voice since April 2011. I don’t write as often as the other bloggers because I guess I’m the quiet one. Yet I hope that my infrequency has been inversely reflected in the intensity of my posts; I’ve been open and honest and shared all that I’ve been working through. My path…
A Final House Goodbye
It’s been a long time since I cried for three straight hours. I forgot how many rolls of toilet paper I can go through per hour. (Yes, I use toilet paper instead of Kleenex. TP is more efficient, less messy and much cheaper. When you are clocking nose blows at between 2 to 3 RPH – rolls per hour – cost matters.) I also forgot how…
Let the New Life Begin
So much has happened in such a small amount of time that my head is spinning even as I type. I now live in downtown Austin with cars and people and dog walking and concrete which, for a country boy, is quite the change. I have a new job that’s challenging, engaging and, quite frankly, fun. Life is completely different than just a few weeks…
A Dog Eat Dog World
Who do I complain to about the discrepancy of dog years compared to human years? I want to know the person in charge who came up with the math of 7 years of a dog’s life is equal to 1 year of a human’s life. I’m confused by acceleration of dog time; I’ve watched a dog for an entire day. He gets up, goes outside to the bathroom –…
Spider Cracks
It’s almost midnight and she lies in a hospital bed at the all-too-familiar emergency room. Tears emerge as the nurse pushes the needle into her arm – in order to find a “good” vain for the IV. This is the nurse’s second attempt, the first one only producing a puncture that will be sore for days. I stand hopeless next to the bed,…