I started this blog a couple of weeks after learning of my husband's sudden death at the age of 33.

The primary goal was to get me through each moment, hour, and day, but I also hoped that someday my daughter and I would read through it and learn something together—about my dear husband, her father, and about death, and about life.

I'm grateful that it's also served as a comfort for many others going through loss around the world, many of whom have become dear friends.

January

It is January.It is late.On these long, sullenwinter days,I deeply miss yourcoming home.I am diligent in this,the waking, sleeping, and eating.In washing dishes and crumbs off countertops, pulling the trash can down to the curb on Mondays.Nightly aloneafter she...

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Holidays

My silence here began after the shootings in Connecticut.   It felt wrong and disrespectful to write in the wake of their fresh tragedy.  I cried daily trying to imagine the horror the victims and parents experienced- to enter into their pain, surprised...

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September 2009- September 2010

September 2009- September 2010

When Audrey turned one, I worked for hours editing down the thousands of photos we'd taken of her since birth and putting them together in a clean, professional looking album I created on Shutterfly.  I planned to do so each year.  But during her second...

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No Less Sad

How is it that today I can be wearing jeans with paint spots on them, not from the room I painted in our new home- but from three homes ago- our last apartment in Brooklyn- the bedroom that was painted grey like the rest of the apartment, but I painted an ocean blue....

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This is December

This is December

One of the effects of a move is leaving behind your mail.  You still received mail at our old apartment- not much- a stray card or two from our old dentist in NYC- you were due for a visit.  A large postcard asking if you had hearing loss.   In the past...

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Thanks to the Human Heart

"Thanks to the human heart by which we live,Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fearsTo me the meanest flower that blows can giveThoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."Ode on Intimations of Immortality - WordsworthToo deep for tears.  And so the words...

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