Sunday, September 7, 2014


What a difference a few days make.  I just got home from a terrific overnight with Dan.  Yesterday we went to Nate's to have dinner and visit with his family.  We had a great time and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Nate's parents.  On top of the welcoming company, they also prepared a great meal.  I'm sure we could have stayed much longer, but it was getting late so we had to regretfully leave.  But I smile as I recall the evening and even wished we lived closer so we could get together more often.  The conversation was easy and the company was comfortable.

I found out last night that Nate almost didn't go to Roger Williams...for some reason he delayed accepting at another school and then, during those few days, everything fell into place with Roger Williams.  And this reminds me again how one small decision can change the path our lives take.  If Nate didn't wait, if he didn't go to Roger Williams, then Dan and him would never have met and our families would not have gotten to know each other.  I feel truly blessed to know their family because they are what I like to call "good people".  So I'm thankful God guided us so that our paths could cross.  I'm confident Dan and Nate will be life-long friends and our families will remain in touch for many years to come.

So now I am back home and the laundry is in and I need to go out and mow (never ending).  But we got much needed rain yesterday and there's a cloudless blue sky today.  And I had a great day and weekend, and so I'll pause and take a moment to be grateful and relish this moment.  Because my days are not always filled with grief and sadness.  Every so often, the sun does shine through.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Times Does Not Heal All Wounds

The emptiness fills my soul.  The sadness fills my body.  Work is a distraction that keeps my mind busy.  But as I sit here at home, I look around at those things that were his, that were ours, and I struggle to grasp whether he was really here.  The physical reminders that he existed are all his clothes, in his workshop, in the things that he bought for our home.  These are all evidence that he was here.  But how can he really be gone?  As I closed the door last night as I headed to bed, I'm reminded he hung that door.  It is physical proof he was here.  So how can he be gone?  How can I be here all alone?

And as time passes, I realize that there are now things in my life that Ed was not here to be part of.  Stupid things like doing Zumba or my Fitbit or a new TV show I enjoy watching.  Or the new people in my life who I've met through our common grief.  They are all evidence that Ed is not here with me to share things with and that time continues to march on without him.  For over 30 years I shared everything with him--from the littlest of things to the grandest--and now he is not here to share anything with and that breaks my heart.

Joy no longer fills this house or my heart.  And it hurts too much and it's difficult to breath.  I want to reach out and touch him.  I want to hear his voice.  But none of this exists.  Was it real or was it all just a dream?  The evidence of his existence is this house, is the love he filled it with, and I have pictures to prove he lived.  Dan is living and breathing evidence that he existed.  So why when I look at his things and photos of him, there is a hollowness that hurts so bad.  I beg him to show me a sign he is still with me, to come to me in a dream. But it doesn't come.  My soul is empty and I am engulfed in sadness.  The pain is deep and time is not healing these wounds.