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I’d been praying for a life preserver.
God, send me help.
Give me something that can take this pain away.

I couldn’t take it anymore.
I was drowning in myself, my loss, the pain…and I was weary from bearing it alone.

I never wanted to be alone.

I loved being a wife.
I loved taking care of a man. MY man.
I loved building him up and watching him shine and loving him and being his.

I missed that most.


And I sat in my aloneness and in my grief building these elaborate stories in my head about what my life would look like, who would enter this new life, and starting over.

Oh, God! The starting OVER! From scratch!

No. I just didn’t want to do it.


But grief was swallowing me whole, sucking the life from me. No mindset shift would get me out, and although I was fighting and standing strong for those around me, I was shriveling inside. Losing myself.

I asked my counselor, at Month 3, how long it would take for me to NOT feel this way anymore? When would I feel better, stronger, more capable? When would I wake up and find myself getting out of bed with ease?

“Six months,” she said. “Maybe more like 9.”

And I thought, well, I’m about halfway there. I can hold on.

So I started looking ahead to that 6-month marker, that random date that became some sort of goal for me.

If I can make it to six months, things will turn around.

And here we are.

Today marks 6 months on this planet without my husband.

Six months living a brand new life; a new and different existence for me and my kids, and everyone who loved him. (And he was loved by so many!)

God sent a life preserver.
He sent help.
Help comes in so many different forms, and I had to be open to what that could look like, at any given moment.

The Universe will always deliver what you ask and wait in expectant anticipation…which I did.

In doing so, I’m sitting here at the 6-month mark; that random date at which my therapist said things would start to look up.

And they are.

We miss him like f*%k. That’ll be a constant.
But we’re living.
The lights have come back into our eyes.
Our faces have lifted.
Our appetites have returned, and so has laughter.

Oh, the laughter!


I questioned, at times, if I’d ever get up off the bathroom floor.
Thankfully, with a lot of love, I have. Slowly but surely, I rose. I haven’t laid on the tile in there for a long while.

I much prefer the vertical view in life…standing tall and looking it directly in the eyes.
What else do you have in store for us, Life? We’re ready to tackle the next 6 months, 6 years, 6 decades.

We’ve got this.

And you do too, my friend.