Thank you

Thank you.

For going to work every day so I can have choices now. Your 32 years of hard work has provided me with stability in retirement. I remember how hard you worked the last five years before you retired: starting over, working your ass off loading planes, relearning airport codes, and testing to regain your position, then, once again, Read the blog

I knew

I knew I loved you, but I didn’t know how much. I knew it would hurt when you were gone, but I couldn’t imagine this pain. I knew the house would feel empty, but never thought it would be this quiet. I knew you were special to me and I was right.

I knew our time was limited, but I Read the blog

Sunday morning

Tell me again why I should get up today. To feel more pain? To feel so lonely it hurts? To remember again that the person I want to be with more than anyone is gone?

Tell me again that my life should go on. Tell me he would’ve wanted it that way. Tell me again that he’s better off, that Read the blog

Relegated to Photos and Memories

Relegated to photos and memories
You, who were here only weeks ago
No longer tangible, touchable, real

Relegated to pictures and memories
You, who I loved with all my being
No longer here in my bed

Relegated to pictures and memories
Captured digitally and on 4×6 prints
Part of my elusive dreams

Read the blog

Evenings are the worst

Evenings are the worst.
Coming home from work to an empty house – the new normal.

No plans, no dinner, no evenings on the deck, chatting about our day, drinking wine and eating appies and listening to Five for Fighting Pandora. No watching you prep and grill dinner while I grab a swim. No moving to sit under the gazebo Read the blog

Pain Menu

Pain menu

Which memory shall I select? What will bring on the tears?
You at the end? Hooked to monitors, breathing by machine?

You at the beginning? Our first date? Our first kiss?

Or the many options from the 21 years in between?

The memory selection is endless. The choices are triggered with little to no effort.

Choose one, name … Read the blog

Friday, work at home day

You’re supposed to be in the next room.

It’s Friday, work at home day. We’re supposed to chatter back and forth all day, you in your office across the hall, me in mine.

But it’s silent.

I can’t hear your big fingers clacking away at the keyboard – the fastest hunt and peck typing I’ve ever heard.
I can’t hear Read the blog

We did everything together

We did everything together.

I sit here mourning your death, and I think, who would understand this pain? We did everything together. Since you retired in 2011, you’d drive me to work in the morning, pick me up and take me to lunch, then pick me up and take me home.

On Fridays, I worked from my home office, and … Read the blog