At last, some good news. Life Legacy is a non-profit that will let my husband’s empty shell be used to help someone. They will cremate the remains and return them to me. And the not-inconsiderable part is that they will do this at no cost to me. No viewings, though, he has to be cremated, […]

My brother and sis-in-law have volunteered their home for a gathering of some sort. Last night I dreamed I was there, with all the people wanting to tell me how sorry they were, and I answered the phone. It was a collect call from Chris. I refused it, thinking it a sick joke, and heard

Return visitors may have noticed some changes. I felt that my blog should wear mourning colors, as I don’t think I can bring myself to do so. That would make it more real than I can bear. Don’t mind the bright colors, if you could read black on black, that is how it would be.

Tonight, I hate my home. Everywhere I look, he is staring back at me. Fred, the little yellow stuffed dog he gave me when I was pregnant with Hope. The clock/picture frame, with his picture in it, on my desk. A pair of his pants I always meant to sew, turned into a bed for

There are people I’d like to throw things at. I could make a list a couple pages long, of people I’d like to wake up with a rock through their window tonight. If I had a baby-sitter, and a getaway driver… He went through something like seven case managers, and at least as many doctors,

I have good friends. They fed us, they took us to their house, they entertained Hope while I pretended to sleep on their couch, and lovingly left me alone as I sobbed. They did my laundry as I lay there, sometimes actually sleeping, sometimes just too drained to move. They even hung it all out

My brand-name, extra-strength tissues cannot handle my pain. I have lint all over my hands, and my nose is raw. And let’s not even talk about my head, or my stomach. Or my soul.