AKA "The Writing Woman"
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…
How did it ever come to be That you became a part of me? I started out my life alone Content to live life on my own But then I fell in love with you As time went on, that’s when I knew It was our destiny to meet Your love for me made me…
… 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…
I’m used to life without you I’ve made all new routines The quiet house seems normal now My life’s gone on, it seems I function out in public Can hold my tears inside No longer overcome with sobs Seeking a place to hide I’m used to traveling on my own And tables set for one…
Sometimes, I can still hear your voice in my head telling me, “I love you honey.” I can still hear you saying, “It will be OK.” And every now and then one of your catchphrases pops into my head: “That’s why they call me ‘the big fella,’” or even, “Shut the hell up.” When something…
…After 15 months of widowhood, I’ve pretty much adapted to my current status. And, sometimes, when I take inventory of where my life is headed, now that I’m on my own, I ask myself, Other than the fact that your husband is dead, how do you like your life? And the answer is – I have…
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…
… 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…