AKA "The Writing Woman"
Jo asked me if I was better off after losing you than I was before we met.
We were talking finances, and the answer is yes.
But how many other ways am I better off today?
You told me so often how intelligent I was, how beautiful, how sexy, how talented. You disparaged others who didn’t appreciate me as an … Read the blog
Two decades in the middle of my life. In time, is that what you’ll become? I man I loved for two decades of my life?
Twenty years is so awfully awfully short. Why does it hurt so much to picture you this way? To think that some day you’ll be a man I once loved?
Will I be an old … Read the blog
My life has become a movie: Groundhog Day.
Every morning I wake up and realize you’re gone all over again.
I drive in my car on the way home from work, looking forward to seeing you when I get there – oh wait, Rick is dead. I knew, but I forgot.
I walk into my house and suddenly realize the … Read the blog
Life is easier now. Since the cancer diagnosis last fall, it’s been continuous stress: monitoring, doctor visits, pills, x-rays, tests, scans, chemo, radiation, shots, canes, then walkers. Reading about cancer, and pneumonitis, and blood cells, and medical studies, and alternative treatments. Trying to get you to eat, trying to help you dress and shower, trying to inspire you to get … Read the blog
I hear a lawn mower running outside. It’s a beautiful (too early) fall day. You would love this. You would love the smell of autumn, and the sounds of the mower outside the window. You would want to take a nap with the window open, curled like a burrito in your old stinky blanket. You would tell me that since … Read the blog
It’s work at home Friday again. I can imagine you in your office, doing whatever chore is required today to keep the business going. I can hear you asking me, “Is there anything I can do to help?” when I complain that there are too many deadlines and I can’t keep up.
I can’t go there. I can’t start picturing … Read the blog
Thank you.
For going to work every day so I can have choices now. Your 32 years of hard work has provided me with stability in retirement. I remember how hard you worked the last five years before you retired: starting over, working your ass off loading planes, relearning airport codes, and testing to regain your position, then, once again, … Read the blog
You’re supposed to hold me when I’m grieving.
For more than twenty years, your huge warm comforting embrace has been my strength through sadness and despair.
How can I live through losing you?
You were my bulwark.
Your giant strong hands held mine through every loss I suffered, every sadness, every disappointment.
Whose hands will hold mine now?
Your words … Read the blog
I knew I loved you, but I didn’t know how much. I knew it would hurt when you were gone, but I couldn’t imagine this pain. I knew the house would feel empty, but never thought it would be this quiet. I knew you were special to me and I was right.
I knew our time was limited, but I … Read the blog
Evenings are the worst.
Coming home from work to an empty house – the new normal.
No plans, no dinner, no evenings on the deck, chatting about our day, drinking wine and eating appies and listening to Five for Fighting Pandora. No watching you prep and grill dinner while I grab a swim. No moving to sit under the gazebo … Read the blog