I lost my husband on February 17, 2013. Mike had a heart attack in his sleep; he was 59. I was about a month away from my 45th birthday, and we were a few months away from our 14th wedding anniversary. I found him that morning. It was the single most shocking and horrible thing that's ever happened to me. The past 439 days have been the longest, strangest trip I've ever taken. And it's not over yet. It will never be over.
Anyone remember that legendary warning from Woodstock not to eat the brown acid, which was supposedly giving people bad trips? A few months ago I was trying to explain to a friend how surreal my life, and the whole world in fact, seemed now that he was gone. It's as if I wake up each morning and take my daily dose of the bad brown LSD and then move on with my day, the colors and sounds swirling around me unrecognizable, the panic and paranoia clenching my throat, my heart racing.
When Michele first contacted me about joining this wonderful community here at Widow's Voice, I was deeply honored and grateful for the opportunity to share my story, and connect with others on this journey of healing. I immediately started writing some introductory paragraphs about myself. And then wrote them again. And rewrote them. Again. And again. And again.