My husband died last week.
Yes, we have been divorced for a year.
Yes, we were separated for a little over three years.
And I have mourned the loss of our relationship - I started mourning that loss years and years ago until it was finally and irrevocably over.
But we were married for 25 years.
So when I say, "My husband died last week" please understand that I am grieving him,
the person to whom I was married and in love and comfortable with for a very long time.
I am mourning the loss of
my best friend,
my co-conspirator in silliness,
my brother in recovery.
I am mourning the loss of the man who taught me to window shop,
and to spend an hour trying to decide which one thing I couldn't live without at the Dollar Store,
and that it's fun to just drive for the sake of driving - without having a destination in mind,
and that everything is a lesson - we just have to look for it.
And that gratitude is an action word, not a feeling.
And how to play.
So even though I thought that for some reason my grief should be less, because he was my
I was wrong.
I'm not getting over this in a hurry.
This is going to take a while.
I miss you, Ton'Ee.