💔 9 months I’ve run out of words. 😔

Wearing black for a designated period of time has gone by the wayside. In the past, widows were expected to wear back for at least a year, a period also referred to as "high mourning". For some faiths, the next six months were considered "half mourning"; during this time a bit of white could be added in to the wardrobe. After that, sometimes there was a period of "light mourning", where muted shades of gray/lavender/mauve were acceptable. Call me old fashioned, but I kind of wish this tradition was still in place. An article I read recently, points out exactly…

One of the often-uttered phrases during all of this is that I am adjusting to my new normal. There is nothing normal about this. The old normal was perfectly fine. I want it back. Now. Sure, death is an accepted part of life and those left behind need to deal with it. It is what it is. We attend a funeral, express our condolences, cry a bit, have wistful & fond memories, but for the most part, we go on after a small interruption of day-to-day life. Maybe we take a couple of days off, but eventually we go back…

Generally, the world comes in packages of two without attracting much attention. Unless it's a bicycle built for two or a two dollar bill, there's not too much hoopla made over double quantities. However... The world truly seems to be geared towards couples. I never noticed it before, but lately there have been numerous examples that have brought this to my attention. A few weeks ago, I had my eyes checked and got new glasses. Of course, the office was having a" buy one, get one 50% off sale" on frames. We used to go together so we could take…

A common sentiment throughout this whole experience is how strong I have been. I don't feel strong, I feel quite weak, so when others say I'm strong, I wonder what in the world they're basing that on. After the funeral, my brother told me how proud he was of how strong I was during everything. One of my sons mentioned that I was going an impressive 100 miles an hour. When I returned to work, I was told I was strong, I'd get through it and be okay. I'm here to tell you, strength is finite. I may look strong,…

Each day, when I wake up, there's a temporary fog before my head clears. And then I open my eyes. The room is bright, the linens are white, there's much less furniture than there should be. And then I remember. I turn my head to look beside me, knowing what I won't see. I close my eyes, hating this life, wondering how I'll get through this day, and wishing I was still asleep, where grief does not live.

In the beginning, I had a very tough time sleeping. I didn't sleep at night, I didn't sleep in a bed, sometimes I didn't sleep at all. I was incredibly afraid of having nightmares; the scene from the night he died replayed in my head every time I closed my eyes. It was hard enough going through it the first time, I didn't want an endless replay every single night. For the first few weeks, I slept in a recliner in the living room. It wasn't comfortable at all, but I couldn't bring myself to sleep in our bed... the…

One of the things that folks do is encourage the grieving to get out, try new things. I felt so horrible those first few weeks that I thought that would pull me out of some of the pain I was in. It didn't. I flew to visit friends about a month after Dwight passed, but the trip there and back was quite painful. Late flights, cancelled flights and watching couples in all the airports put me into tears more often than not. The little frustrations of traveling were magnified and there were quite a few times that I pulled my…

All through childhood, I watched the slew of Christmas shows that 50 years later, still play. One of my favorites was "Santa Claus is Coming to Town". There's a song from that show that I think of quite often, "Put One Foot in Front of the Other": Put one foot in front of the otherAnd soon you'll be walking out the doorIf you want to change your directionIf your time of life is at hand Well don't be the rule, be the exceptionA good way to start is to stand For many months, this has been my way of life.…

We had the annual family/neighborhood reunion this weekend. It was different, walking in without holding your hand or carrying the loaf of bread that was always your contribution to the food table. You weren't there to talk down the IPA in the cooler or talk up the carrot cake. There were no calls of "Hey dad!", "It's grandpa!" or "Hi Dwight!" Every once in awhile I'd look around to spot you so I could tell you something funny that just happened. For a second, here and there, I forget that you're not with us, any more; it makes my heart…