AKA "The Writing Woman"
I was running late this morning (nothing new about that). But today I was particularly late, and at the time I got in my car and started it up, I’m usually already sitting at my desk at work. I wouldn’t normally have been in the car when this song was playing. Timing is everything. So…
I feel like I’m at some weird crossroads in my life: the intersection of clinging to my life with Rick and forging on to my solo life ahead. My head is filled with conflicting thoughts. The pain, the grief has lessened (most days), and I’ve realized that by living without Rick for nearly ten months,…
As someone who has now survived nine months of widowhood, I decided to extend a lifeline of hope for anyone who’s in the first few month of grieving. It’s a surprising realization and something that occurred to me only this morning: It gets better. I never would have believed it in the early days –…
When Rick died suddenly last August, my son Brandon and his wife Lindsey were forced to quickly research the best way to handle explaining his death to my then 2 ½-year-old grandson, Jonas. They didn’t want to confuse him by telling him that his Papa “went away,” because he might think Papa was coming back….
Serenity was a long holiday weekend. Me floating in my pool You, off riding your bicycle Quiet, stillness, lassitude Relaxed in the giant float I bought on Amazon Peace and tranquility Summer and heat and happiness Floating, floating, floating Staring up at the blue sky Leaves and squirrels rustling in the trees Pure bliss Alone,…
I’m sitting alone in the booth at the Coney restaurant. I thought I was used to it by now. I thought nearly nine months without you had inured me to eating alone, sleeping alone, existing alone. But perhaps not. I miss so much about you and our time together, but I miss chatting with you…
I cried when I first changed our bed sheets But any trace of your scent was long gone I’ve accepted you aren’t coming back But it’s still very hard to move on Your things are still just where you left them On the table right next to the bed The last glass you drank from…
I see the tulips in our yard And I remember When I used to be excited about spring Spring meant summer was near And summer meant time outside with you Days frolicking in the sun Evenings lounging in the sultry heat out in our yard Me swatting mosquitoes You not Smells and sounds of summer…
Why does it hit so hard sometimes? I move along, I feel myself starting to heal – just a little, and then I’m blindsided with a grief so fresh it feels like he died yesterday. It’s 8 and ½ months today. My heart was shattered on an August Sunday nearly nine months ago. Sometimes it…
It’s all just attempts at distraction. All day long every day. Each hour brings a wrong note – discord and strife because nothing is the way it’s supposed to be. The clock ticks and each moment reminds me of what I lost. All day, my rhythms are off. All day, every day, is wrong, soul-jarringly…