Widowhood. It ain't funny

Well, maybe it is, a little.  I'm amazed how many of us are collectors.  Compulsive buyers.  Compulsive collectors.

Meet my rocks.  The marble from Massachusetts.  The others from deep in my backyard.  I love rocks.   I adore rocks.  Rocks last forever. Rocks are my friends. 

Meet my other best friends. My journal, my favorite blogs, my books, my gardens, my cats, my piano, my bicycles, my road trips, my food, my clothes, my shoes, my jewelry.   

Well, if collecting doesn't solve the grief problem, what is it that makes us resilient enough to beat it?

Maybe the humor.  Maybe getting to the real issues and having a good cry.  Maybe having somebody believe in you.  Maybe the passage of time.  Maybe taking on new projects.   Maybe optimism and faith.  Maybe enough money.   Maybe good enough health.  Maybe a 'can-do' spirit.   Maybe the void itself once we welcome it.  Maybe having a dear new friend. 

Whatever those special ingredients, it somehow all adds up to a new identity, post widowhood, at some point in our lives.  It has to. 

Time's come to give up a few things I've hoarded.  I'm going to take a deep breath, and purge some things from my closet.  Maybe I can live with less?

Tell me about your collections.  Are they helping?