Before I left the hospital in 2001 after Rich had been pronounced, nurses handed me some booklets about the death of a spouse. After I made funeral arrangements, the director gave me booklets too. I was too numb to do much more than page through the stuff. I couldn't imagine ever feeling this way but I must admit I am now in that place:
still there, and you have to live it.
After a while
you remember the good things
more often than the bad.
Then, gradually,
the empty silent parts of you fill up
With sounds of talking and laughter
again.
And the jagged edges of sadness
are softened by memories.
I don't know who wrote it but I do see how I've progressed over 2 years. I've gone from flashbacks of that awful morning to memories of Rich when he was young and when he was healthy.
Thank God.