Grief. Love. Magic. A new road. A new life~

The Many Dances~

I used to dance with my beloved husband…

We danced dreamily, to Clint Black, to Chicago, to Elvis, to whatever tune happened to be playing wherever we were.
Oh, how we danced...his right arm around me, my hand clasped in his.

At the end of the dance, he’d always dip me back in his arms, and then kiss my hand.

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I Must Write of This, Because~

I must write about Love, because I will go fucking insane if I write of the painful past, I will go fucking insane from..I don't know...rage? World stopping anxiety? Despair? 

It goes by many names, this feeling that is the experience I shared with Chuck in his hospice time. In the cancer time. In his death and dying time.

How I torture myself by reading the blogs I wrote on my private page, of those times. 

The horrifying morning where I drove Chuck to the ER because this man who had a massively high pain threshold could no longer absorb the pain of the cancer that returned and ate his ribs, and made it difficult to walk.

The determination of me, of our kids, to make his hospice time one of Love, not instead of fear, but as a cup for the fear.

The horror of realizing that my beloved husband was dying and I couldn't stop it.

And the sharp in breath I took when I recognized, somehow, that the breath he was taking at that moment, would be his last breath. I put my hand on his heart and knew that he was gone.

And that my entire life was somehow, also...gone.

My god, the dread, the panic, the purity of that moment of sheer Hiroshima level shock...

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Just me, trying to figure this shit out, after the firestorm of my beloved husband's death~
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