After my husband's death in 2013, I didn't care if I lived or died. No, that's not true. Sometimes, at first, I wanted to die.
I spent 193 and one-half days of that first year as a widow, often remembering words that he wrote to me from Korea in 1954: I will love only you until the day I die. I only pray it is the death of a true lover and not the death of love. Darling, our love will continue long after the body has ceased.
Was he aware of me, still loving me?
I am less self-centered now─dear God, I hope I am─and capable of caring about the grief of others.
My blog will reveal some of my chaotic thinking and behavior during the brunt of my grief on my way to . . . what?
I hope to stimulate conversation with others who are willing to respond from their own experiences with loss, and to share what helped them find solace, particularly in the early days/the holidays, the anniversaries, the birthdays, and more.
Our culture does not encourage us to discuss feelings. We should grieve, get over it, and be happy again. If only it were that simple.