Shifting Tides

I have been a widow for three months.  Grief comes and goes, not in the five stages reflected in books on death and dying.  I mourn in a crooked, winding path of sweet memories follwed by piercing guilt and empty wishes.  I skipped over denial.   I held Des when he breathed his last breath.  It came so easy, silently, peaceful.

Anger has no  place in my mourning.  Anger is for the living,  meaningless without  a target.  Void of  energy.   Yet, I am not embracing acceptance quite yet,  To embrace acceptance, I must consider the future.  Right now, ny goal is to live in the here and now.

His presence surrounds me, his voice breaks  through the silence  and I look at his snapshots, here and there around the house.  Silly ones, as wearing his green top hat mugging for St. Patrick's day, or staring patiently at his beloved cat, Murphi sprawled across his desk, scattering papers and notes without a reprimand.  His best buddy he calls him,  the guys, he calls our cats.  Of course, their female gender is not acknowleged.  Although he did once muse aloud about his household of females.  His harem I said.

This is my first blog since I stroked his face and told him he was going on a wonderful journey to see , at last, his brothers, Ep, Dick and Merle....his mother and father and friends who made a path for him to follow.   I told him to save a place for me.  I am comforted by my faith, family, friends and furry critters. 
 
 Des always said, sudden death, sudden glory.  Meanwhile, I plan not to waste this gift of life.   Love and gratitude - it is all there is.    

So says Sassy