AKA "The Writing Woman"
Tell me again why I should get up today. To feel more pain? To feel so lonely it hurts? To remember again that the person I want to be with more than anyone is gone?
Tell me again that my life should go on. Tell me he would’ve wanted it that way. Tell me again that he’s better off, that … Read the blog
Relegated to photos and memories
You, who were here only weeks ago
No longer tangible, touchable, real
Relegated to pictures and memories
You, who I loved with all my being
No longer here in my bed
Relegated to pictures and memories
Captured digitally and on 4×6 prints
Part of my elusive dreams
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
I just found the announcement we were going to post on Facebook in March 2017. I think we both felt that the time was never right:
Rick is pretty private when it comes to talking about personal issues on FB, but I have to announce something major. The truth is, after his sudden “sodium issues” last September, he was diagnosed … Read the blog
Pain menu
Which memory shall I select? What will bring on the tears?
You at the end? Hooked to monitors, breathing by machine?
You at the beginning? Our first date? Our first kiss?
Or the many options from the 21 years in between?
The memory selection is endless. The choices are triggered with little to no effort.
Choose one, name … Read the blog
You’re supposed to be in the next room.
It’s Friday, work at home day. We’re supposed to chatter back and forth all day, you in your office across the hall, me in mine.
But it’s silent.
I can’t hear your big fingers clacking away at the keyboard – the fastest hunt and peck typing I’ve ever heard.
I can’t hear … Read the blog
We did everything together.
I sit here mourning your death, and I think, who would understand this pain? We did everything together. Since you retired in 2011, you’d drive me to work in the morning, pick me up and take me to lunch, then pick me up and take me home.
On Fridays, I worked from my home office, and … Read the blog
The world talks of the solar eclipse. The day you died, pain eclipsed my world.
… Read the blog
Once you got the death sentence, you said there was nothing we could do about it.
But you didn’t die that Christmas, and you didn’t die that spring.
And we got Christmas with the family.
And we got spring in Florida.
And – in between hospital visits – we got summer at home.
We got time with friends.
We got … Read the blog
This is our house.
You planted these ficas in the front yard. You built these wooden pillars to cover the old colonial ones. You carried this bench to the front porch – the one that we brought from our home in Maryland. You cut this grass. You put in the new front door, and put up the new accent lights … Read the blog