AKA "The Writing Woman"
I’ve had years to study the effects of grief and just about everything written about it. And one of the things that surprised me when I first became a widow was how much fear was a part of grief. After Rick died, my biggest fear was that I wouldn’t have the strength to go on with my own life without … Read the blog
It’s that time, again. The ten-day period between the anniversary of Rick’s death and his birthday, the day we held his celebration of life. August 13th to August 23rd, 2017: the most painful time of my life.
After seven years, it doesn’t hit as hard. Well, at least that’s what I thought. But I realized that all last week I … Read the blog
Every now and then I hear one of those old songs from the 1940s that my parents used to listen to, and – wow – do those lyrics hit! The other night, as I lay awake in bed (as usual), I remembered the lyrics of “There Will Never Be Another You”:
… Read the blogThere will be many other nights like this |
I’m babysitting my two young grandsons for a four-day weekend while their folks are out of town. These two like all sorts of music. They may ask the Amazon Alexa to play Daft Punk, Justin Bieber, rap or hard rock, or at bedtime, just before I play Enya, they want to hear “My Heart Will Go On” from The Titanic.… Read the blog
t happened again. I went on another first date that didn’t leave me wanting a second. The man was intelligent and ambitious, polite and friendly. But there was no spark, and, when I got home afterwards, I realized that I hadn’t laughed once. Not once. And I have that kind of sense of humor that finds just about anything funny.… 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
Five years ago today, I held Rick’s hand in a death grip. A literal death grip, for hour upon hour. By noon of that day, I realized he was going to die, and he did, at 8pm that night.
The night before, alone in my bed, I had an odd feeling. A scary feeling. A feeling like my life was … Read the blog