AKA "The Writing Woman"
One thing I’ve learned about widowhood is that it’s exhausting; it’s so much work. At first, it’s trying to make it through the long awful days without your husband. Being bombarded with memories and tears. Adapting to the empty house. Working to control your emotions in public. Striving to get out of bed each morning…
Dear Rick, How can you be gone? I repeat this question to myself at least once a week, sometimes out loud, usually accompanied by a silent sob. I guess I’m getting better. It used to be several times a day, and – in the weeks after you died – it was several times an hour….
Now that you’ve been gone so long And life and time keep moving on I spend less time within my room Crying, weeping, feeling gloom Those days, those months of constant grief Incessant pain with no relief The unrelenting agony Of knowing you are gone from me Have seemed to pass and though I’m sad…
… But some nights, I lie down on my side, pull the covers around me, and put out the light, and I sense him there. It’s not a conscious decision; it just happens. I feel him scooch over next to me from behind and pull me to him, and snuggle up against me. I feel…
Can I pretend, just for a few minutes That you are outside in the yard Wearing your red flannel hoodie? Can I imagine, just for a while On this beautiful November Saturday – That you’re raking the fallen leaves, as you loved to do? Wearing your tiny white iPhone earbuds, You’re listening to the new…
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…
As an avid swimmer all my life, I know how dangerous and unpredictable waves can be. One minute, you’re frolicking in the surf, head above water, enjoying the vibrant, alive feeling of being submerged in the cold water, floating or swimming, and having the time of your life. The next, you’re knocked off your feet,…
In the first few months after Rick died, I was in a state of nearly constant anxiety. The house no longer felt safe and I felt very alone. I have lived alone (as a single parent) before in my life, and I have also lived in an extremely unsafe neighborhood, yet it had never been…
On my way to trivia finals this morning, I was reminded of last October, two months after Rick died, when I was invited to play with this same team in a trivia finals event. After Rick was diagnosed in October 2016, we rarely went to our regular Monday league games anymore. At first, he was…