Prose Category

First Lessons in Widowhood, or How Shit Gets Real in the First Five Months

From the time you stop counting the minutes between your spouse’s last breaths of earthly oxygen (I stopped at 7 minutes and 23 seconds before I called my dad to my husband’s hospice bed in the dining room to help me count), shit gets real…real fast.

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What You Don’t See 9.12.16

Dear two bikers coming down the big hill at Battelle Darby Creek, as you rounded the path that parallels the creek itself:

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So Close But Yet So Far

I was almost proud of myself today.

Almost.

I made it almost an entire day, at least from 5 a.m. until about 6:50 p.m. without crying once. And by crying, I mean even feeling that ball of tears start wadding itself up in the middle of my gut. You don’t have to have waterworks to cry, you know.

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7 Stupid Questions From My First 5 Months of Widowhood

Bahamas sunset

*originally published online 9.12.16

  1. “What did you do with all his clothes?”
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