AKA "The Writing Woman"
It’s tough to go on vacations now…too much time to think. I’m up north at the family cottage for two weeks, and the weather is beautiful. I have nothing to do but bask in the sun, play with the grandkids on the sandy beach of Lake Huron, enjoy time with my family, and take in…
Dear Rick, It’s been nearly a year since you died. Does that mean I should be getting over the grief by now? Should I be capable of moving on in my “new” life without you? In antiquated terms, is it almost time for me to remove my widow’s weeds? Almost a year…it will be eleven…
As widowed life becomes “normal,” not every morning is horrible anymore. It used to be – a few short months ago – that the bravest thing I’ve ever done was to get out of bed in the morning and face the day ahead. In the first month or two after Rick died, I was in…
I was tidying up the kitchen yesterday, and I reached for the spray bottle of cleaner. I noticed it’s almost empty and reminded myself that I need to add it to my shopping list. Then my mind started its typical chain of thoughts… Rick bought this bottle. He bought a couple of bottles at the…
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…
The wind blows and your spirit speaks to me From the chimes under the gazebo out on our deck When I put your ashes inside (a little teaspoon of you) I had no idea How your memory would resonate with each sound throughout my days and my nights With a gentle nudge upon every breeze…