Journeys through Widowhood
One Year Later
365 days.
365 mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights.
Sometimes, the day of Richard's death feels like yesterday. Sometimes, it feels like an event that happened before the world was born.
But it happened, forever changing my world -- and me -- in surprising ways.
I expected to grieve, but was surprised at the ferocity of grief.
I expected to mourn, but was surprised at the randomness of mourning.
I hoped to heal, but was surprised that healing happened on its own mysterious schedule.
What does today feel like?
Of course, today feels like a quiet day to remember and celebrate Richard. And, perhaps selfishly, it also feels like a day to honor the year I've just completed.
You see, I thought I had experienced pain before, but had no idea how deep it could be. I thought I was alone, but found that I was supported. I thought I knew my own strength, but discovered that I had more in deep reserve. I thought I was done growing, only to learn that I was just getting started.
Today, it is ok to feel happy. It is ok to feel sad. It's even ok to feel proud of surviving the changes demanded by the last 365 days. So I light a candle in sweet memory of Richard on the first anniversary of his death. And to salute all of us who are widowing today.
365 mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights.
Sometimes, the day of Richard's death feels like yesterday. Sometimes, it feels like an event that happened before the world was born.
But it happened, forever changing my world -- and me -- in surprising ways.
I expected to grieve, but was surprised at the ferocity of grief.
I expected to mourn, but was surprised at the randomness of mourning.
I hoped to heal, but was surprised that healing happened on its own mysterious schedule.
What does today feel like?
Of course, today feels like a quiet day to remember and celebrate Richard. And, perhaps selfishly, it also feels like a day to honor the year I've just completed.
You see, I thought I had experienced pain before, but had no idea how deep it could be. I thought I was alone, but found that I was supported. I thought I knew my own strength, but discovered that I had more in deep reserve. I thought I was done growing, only to learn that I was just getting started.
Today, it is ok to feel happy. It is ok to feel sad. It's even ok to feel proud of surviving the changes demanded by the last 365 days. So I light a candle in sweet memory of Richard on the first anniversary of his death. And to salute all of us who are widowing today.
.jpeg)