I walked on a beach yesterday and didn’t cry.
It may seem stupid in some ways, but as I have shared in previous posts, the beach is the most sacred of spaces that I associate with my late husband, and it has been more than two years since I have had the courage to do so. Continue reading “Small victories”
I married relatively later in life, and so being unfamiliar with some of its rituals, had asked my friend Pam about a rather important one in particular.
Just when you feel that your life may be on track, fate, the gods, or happenstance steps in front of you and waves its fat, jiggly arms.
I posted last week about tackling some of my late husband’s belongings in the bedroom. It was a mistake. Continue reading “Uprooted”
In the South, you don’t go grocery shopping; you go “tradin’.”
And those four-wheeled caged contraptions you push up and down the aisles to transport your goods out to the car are not shopping carts, they’re called “buggies.”
I decided to thin out my filing cabinet this weekend and came across my husband’s passport.
It was a wrench, I’m not gonna lie. Continue reading “Passed port”
Grief is an annoying houseguest who won't leave 