April 10, 2016 will be the three year anniversary of my husband George's death. I’d hoped to feel healed by now, to have emerged from grieving stronger and complete, but most of the time I don't feel that way. It’s like there’s this sad, little rodent within me that scurries against my ribs when it’s sad or anxious, like some part of me dissolved into this animal after George died...
This is the start of my article Here in Elephant Journal. I talk about how loss and loneliness turned me into a different person, but it's funny too: In movies, the bereaved mourns gracefully, still looking perfect the whole time. After establishing a cute new business, she remarries within a moronically short amount of time and moves to a renovated yellow cottage with French doors, a Labrador retriever and a guy who looks like Richard Gere.
If you wanted to check it out, I'd really appreciate it. It sort of distills my three years of widowhood into one article. My blog is at The Hungover Widow.