AKA "The Writing Woman"
After more than a year of coming to terms with Rick’s death, today I came to realize that grieving is just a long-running battle with the words I tell myself in my head. There’s a voice in a continuously running monologue that tells me things that I need to either heed or ignore, words to…
I was fine. I made it through going to our diner for breakfast. I purposely flipped past the song that would make me cry on the way home on this dreary day. I pulled into our driveway and for one quick second, looked at the beautiful red-orange leaves on the tree outside our bedroom and…
… So here I am, with all the usual stress inducers (and more) and no Rick to balance it all out for me. No backrubs. No one to say, “Don’t worry, honey, none of that matters. Let’s take a drive through the park.” I am graced with the support of wonderful friends and family, so…
I have a confession to make: I used to complain about my husband. Yes, I have to admit that Rick, my perfect husband, the man I adored so much in life, was actually not so perfect, after all. And at times, when I was out with friends, or particularly aggravated by some of his failings…
. . .One evening, a couple of months after Rick died, I just couldn’t stand being alone in the house anymore, but I also knew I was not fit company for anyone. I was miserable and sad and lonely, but I was only lonely for Rick, so that also negated the idea of calling a…