I was married for just 25 years and 13 days when my husband, Andrew, died at age 55 of a heart attack. We had just moved and bought a new house.
Even though it sounds selfish to say I’m writing this for myself, it is one reason. But in the process I do hope that someone might read what I’ve written and find that he/she feels the same way, or even a different way, or can relate in at least a small way.
I won’t dwell on sadness. I’ll touch it and be with it. Life goes on, and that’s the part that I have left. Right now there’s a lot of “without” about which to write. At the same time I know that there has to be a lot of “with.” There will be a lot of “with.”
I may not be able to enjoy every experience of every one of these days. What has been familiar is gone. But I need to enjoy what I can as what I have now becomes the familiar and becomes my experience.