Things don’t bother me as much as they used to. I used to be a lot more tense than I am now, more anxious about everything that needed to be done. I often woke up in the morning with a ...
I have a confession to make: I used to complain about my husband. Yes, I have to admit that Rick, my perfect husband, the man I adored so much in life, was actually not so perfect, after all. And at ...
When Rick was alive, every Thursday night was date night. Rick was not a big movie fan, but I’m a movie addict. As a testament to his love for me, Rick started going to the movies with me once a ...
In 1997, my husband created a logo. I was working for a man who owned a small business, and the company was developing into a formidable competitor on the market. My teenage son worked there with me, and he had ...
"It takes a village to raise a child" is a well known African proverb that means child-rearing is a communal effort, that raising a child requires the experience and support of an entire community with whom the child can interact ...
Ever since Rick died, when making decisions or buying something new, I’ve thought in terms of what he would have liked or disliked. I do lots of things “in his memory,” and as the first anniversary of his death approaches, ...
I miss the sounds of Rick. I never thought of myself as an “auditory” person. I’ve always been more visual: I love the written word; I love looking at photographs and art. Yes, I’ve always put music on the top ...
Jonas with his Papa's memorial photo When Rick died suddenly last August, my son Brandon and his wife Lindsey were forced to quickly research the best way to handle explaining his death to my then 2 ½-year-old grandson, Jonas. They ...
Since my husband died nine months ago, I’ve been attempting to find my new normal. Like all widows, I’m still getting used to living alone and adjusting to life without my partner, trying to balance taking care of my usual ...
I just ate a Slim Jim and started to cry. How can eating a dried meat stick bring back painful memories? How do the most innocuous acts trigger grief and pain and sadness? Is there anything that won’t remind me ...