I am a widow.
But I am not alone.
Even if my house were empty (which at the moment it is not, thank you parents), I would not be alone.
I carry with me, deep in my heart, my love lost.
And not just Ambrose though his is the most recent, rawest of my loves.
I carry the love of a young man. I carry the love of my mother.
That might sound like excess baggage, but it’s not.
Memories of love are like helium balloons.
As long as I am grounded in my body, I can tell that I am grieving, but not broken.
As long as I am grounded in my mind, I can find the words I need to say to explain what’s in my brain.
As long as I am grounded in my spirit, I can look at our memories together and feel the joy that made every moment with you special.
Even the fights.
Maybe especially the fights.
Because pain can be a better teacher. And it is only in the handling of pain that we grow proficient in that skill.
To handle the pain, the grief, the loneliness without going completely crazy…
Well, to be fair, I did go a little crazy.
But I got better.
I don’t know what life holds for me now.
But I’m eager to find out.