Time is passing

Well, I don't seem to be too good at posting on this blog spot. I start thinking about things that I want to write and then start editing them in my head thinking they're not worthy of writing. So I don't write anything. Ten days have past since my first post. People still want to know how I'm doing. I still don't know for sure. The people who never ask that are other widows. I find their advice to be the most helpful, too. Consistently, they say take your time. I'm not going to make any major decisions about my future for at least six months and maybe a year. It has occurred to me, however, that I can make little decisions without consulting anyone--like painting a wall purple or even fuchsia if I choose. Of course, I don't choose to do that, but I did see some wall paper that I love in a Victoria magazine today. It's not that Rick was dictatorial about stuff like that. I almost always did what I wanted, but I felt it was only polite to confer with him. Does that sound trivial? Perhaps so, but the random thoughts I have are kind of weird. I hope that's normal. I do go though a range of emotions with at least one crying spell each day. I've learned that Friday afternoons are the hardest times for me. I look at the clock and think of what was happening at that time on Rick's last Friday. I think I'll plan something for future Fridays. The day that Rick died, Amy came to the home to tell us that she and her family were moving in with me. They had been living with her father-in-law who is a cranky old man and it just didn't work out. That afternoon, she, her husband Ray, five-year-old Katherine and three-year-old William moved in. I think it is probably a good thing. I have lived alone for only three months in my whole life. Katherine sleeps with Little Bit (my calico cat) and me. It is nice to feel her there when I reach out for Rick in the night. And, of course, the house is rarely quiet with a three- and five-year-old in it. Today I did some work in the yard. I think I should have done that days and days ago. Not just because it desperately needs it, but because of the satisfaction it gives. I may be going into my first anger phase of grief, however. I let the fish pond get away from me during the seven weeks since Rick went into the hospital. It is overtaken with algae. Ray vacuumed the pond bottom. I fertilized the water lilies, added some bacteria to kill the algae and cleaned the filters today, Since then, the pump is barely working. Just a trickle is going over the waterfall. I have turned the pump off and put a sump pump in to oxygenate the water so the fish won't die. Now I'm mad at myself and Rick for not teaching me more about the workings of the whole pond and it's mechanical and electrical equipment. I'm sure this is only the first of many similar problems I will experience. I have gotten quite a bit of the "business" involved with death completed. Thank you notes are written, death certificates picked up, and I have an appointment with our attorney on Wednesday to start working on all the legal aspects. Well, I don't seem to have a good way to end this so I'll just quit for now. I have more to write but will wait until tomorrow.

First Steps

Rick, my husband of 47 years. died a week ago tonight. I have always found solace in writing so I decided to start a blog to record my journey into widowhood. It took me longer than I expected to set up this blog spot, so I'll keep my entry short tonight. Last Wednesday morning (the morning following the memorial service), I took my cup of coffee and went to the back porch to drink it. Others were stirring in the house, but I was alone. Oh, I felt so alone. The phrase, "This is the first day of the rest of your life," jumped into my mind and I realized how truly fitting those words were. The rest of my life is ahead of me and it is going to be so different without Rick. I can't imagine that I will spend the rest of my tomorrows without him. People ask me how I'm doing. I don't know. How am I doing? I do know that I would probably be doing a lot better if I weren't battling a case of acute bronchitis. Surely, it will start to get better soon. I did have one real rough spot this afternoon. Rick had been in the hospital since April 9. For the last six weeks, I did only those domestic tasks that were absolutely necessary for survival so that I could spend most of my time at the hospital with him. Today I started sorting piles of laundry. I was in the midst of doing his laundry when he had his heart attack. His unwashed clothes were returned to the laundry basket and put into the closet until today. I came across them this afternoon--his dirty laundry. The shirts and trousers smelled of him. They held the essence of him. I can't wash them yet. It's like I'll be washing him away forever and never again will smell his special smell. There is so much more I want to say, but I am going to close and try to get a good night's sleep. Busy day tomorrow. Granddaughter's orchestra concert followed by grandson's birthday party. Life is moving on and I'll be moving along with it.