I’m back. I’m back with a new identity. I am now a widow. How strange that word looks when I associate it with myself.
My husband’s illness wasn’t a long one, only about six weeks. The first diagnosis, encephalitis, was wrong. It was a brain tumor—a fast growing one called glistoblastoma multiform. Not that it matters. It was a killer whatever you call it.
Yes, I have a supportive family and many supportive friends. I don’t have to worry about finances, thanks to my husband, but I am still reeling, still feeling like a raw wound. I’m told that time will heal that wound. I’ve seen others heal with time. I will, too. I have to believe that, but the truth is that at the moment I can’t see anything beyond today. Today I will write. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. I can lose myself in the story I’m creating.
I think my writing will be different now. Read More
My husband’s illness wasn’t a long one, only about six weeks. The first diagnosis, encephalitis, was wrong. It was a brain tumor—a fast growing one called glistoblastoma multiform. Not that it matters. It was a killer whatever you call it.
Yes, I have a supportive family and many supportive friends. I don’t have to worry about finances, thanks to my husband, but I am still reeling, still feeling like a raw wound. I’m told that time will heal that wound. I’ve seen others heal with time. I will, too. I have to believe that, but the truth is that at the moment I can’t see anything beyond today. Today I will write. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. I can lose myself in the story I’m creating.
I think my writing will be different now. Read More