After losing my husband, I searched for books on grief and grieving, and was surprised to find them delegated to the self-help section of the library.
Nobody told me that I would break down when one of my husband’s friends came up to me and greeted me by holding me the same way he had always done. It was quite accidental and this friend had no idea of what he had done to bring this flood of tears.
I remember the day that I felt satisfied after completing a project and found myself punching in my late husband’s telephone number to tell him. It didn’t take long for the tears to start falling.
Once, late at night, when my car simply would not start, I experienced a moment of extreme fear thinking; but nobody will even know that I did not get home safely.
All alone, I had to discover that at the end of the day, grief was not a wall that comes crashing down the way I had imagined it would. Rather, it was a wall of bricks that fell piece by piece and bruised me and beat me down ever so slowly. It was up to me to rebuild my life and move on.