Tuesday, February 7, 2012


I didn't cry at his funeral.  I didn't cry for a very very long time.  The learning curve for my new life required not falling apart. I trusted my grieving process.  God was in charge.  The SSRI's I took clipped the highs and the lows I probably would have felt, but I needed them to stay on an even keel.

I kept the house (our house), and now, after nearly seven years, I can handle its maintenance for the most part.  I'm blessed to have a house, and I don't complain.  I've learned so much!  Now I can diagnose and repair a sump pump if I need to - had to once during a flood in my basement.  I can haul buckets of water from the flooded basement for 32 hours straight - had to during an extended power outage.  I can install electrical switches, wireless networking, and surround sound systems.  I can start and use my new gas lawnmower, leaf blower and snow blower (I still need help starting my generator).  I can redecorate rooms with simple carpentry (moulding, mostly), wallpaper,  and paint.  I can use a power paint spray machine and fix it when it clogs.  I can install and maintain an electric fence around my property (for four footed garden interlopers).   I can haul 50 lb bags of rocks, and cut down small trees.  Right now my roof is leaking. The whole darn roof needs to be replaced. That I can't do.  My carpenter is pulling shingles and plywood off over my head and the Insurance Adjuster is coming tomorrow.

I was managing pretty well five years into widowhood.  I stopped the SSRI medication.  I was OK.  Odd. No tears.

I fell in love.  My heart came back to big beautiful life.  We parted after two months.

It was my time to cry.

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