AKA "The Writing Woman"
In the eight years since Rick’s been gone, I’ve tried dating and managed to find three men who were potential partners. Yet, here I sit alone again, mulling over what went wrong with each budding relationship. One moved out of town for work. One returned to his ex-wife. The third is an on-again, off-again relationship that has gone on for … Read the blog
As a writer, I spend a lot of time alone, and a lot of time thinking – mostly contemplating life. Tonight, the holiday dinner is over, the kids and grandkids are all off on their merry way, and I sit here pondering how it feels to be alone again in my quiet home. It feels natural now.
I was nearing … Read the blog
For a couple years after my husband died, grief completely overtook my life. I was in a pain-filled fog. I thought about him around the clock. There were memories of his loss everywhere – in my home, my life, my routines, my habits, my comings and goings. Every store we shopped in, every street we drove down together, every restaurant … Read the blog
As the sixth anniversary of Rick’s death approaches, I realize I’ve had many shifts in my attitude about how I view my life here alone. For about the first two years, my whole identity was that of a widow. I was still part of a couple, one of us just wasn’t living. I continued to participate with most of the … Read the blog
The Golden Years
I never thought I’d be alone
In the golden years…
This stage of life we longed for
Retired from the nine to five drudge
Free to do anything we wanted.
When we looked towards the future,
we saw beaches and travel
More of this!
We said, when we took that three-week trip to Europe
Some day, we’ll … Read the blog
In October 2006, we found this house. It was a beautiful, quiet setting on a dead-end street. We had been considering a different house, but we came to look at this house one more time. When we saw it with the leaves turning color and the autumn light and smells all around us, we knew it was our new home. … Read the blog
The fuchsia-pink pool noodle Rick bought me is starting to decompose around the edges. The memories of that last vacation we shared are starting to fade around the edges, too.
How can a pool noodle come to mean so much to me? How does it symbolize our love? Or his personality? Or how much he cared for me?
Can I … Read the blog
The bright, hot sun is beating on my back. The waves of Lake Huron are washing rhythmically against the shore. The sky is blue and nearly cloudless. I put aside my literary magazine to drink it all in: the sun, the breeze, the sand, the summer.
“This is the life, Rick Roy,” I say to myself.
I’m stunned by the … Read the blog
The impact of Rick’s death has lessened as the years go by. That’s only natural. I’ve always been a firm believer that time really does heal all wounds, although not as quickly as we would like (and I definitely formed that opinion before experiencing widowhood). But certainly the enormous and raw pain I felt daily in the first months and … Read the blog
The first year or two after losing Rick, every memory that popped into my mind was an emotional trigger that sometimes made me sob, and other times just brought on some quiet tears. The trick was learning to handle these moments because you never knew where or when they were going to hit. It wasn’t just seeing a picture of … Read the blog