49 I went to Camp Widow to meet new friends, give and receive comfort, and share peak moments. Our widowed lives can be lonely and empty compared to the lives we had with our partners. No matter how long it’s
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347 “What did you do before you came to Cornell?” I asked. We sat on his couch, drank red wine, and listened to Buffy St. Marie on the stereo. He was sturdy and muscular with dark curls.
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158 “I didn’t expect it to hurt so much,” I said in a little girl whine. My husband Vic sat next to the hospital bed where he’d been all night. “Oh no, here comes another one.” “Pant,
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205 I stood in a small room with high ceilings. A shiny cloth covered lumps on a tall table. On a wooden bench next to me, Mommy lay on her belly, hiding her face in her arms. I watched the
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Dear Friends, I’m taking a short blogging break to redesign my website and launch a newsletter. I’ll return to my weekly schedule on September 2 with one change. Once a month this fall, you’ll receive a newsletter
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144 As we walked downhill toward the lake, hundreds of kayaks, canoes and paddleboards bobbed in choppy water. Small balls floated near them–bathing caps and bare heads. Wet paddles sparkled as they moved toward us from across
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106 “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” ~C.S. Lewis When I read A Grief Observed a few months after my husband
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85 “The damned knives are still dull,” I mutter to myself. “I need Vic to sharpen them.” Just washed organic lettuce, bright baby peppers, and cucumbers drain into the kitchen sink. I gently sweep them to the
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325 “What’s wrong?” I asked Patty. Patty was Mom’s aide at the skilled nursing home. She wore colorful smocks with floral prints and always smiled, but not today. Aides stood around in quiet clumps with frowns on
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820 Marion Woodman’s last letter came in February 2011, almost three years after my husband Vic’s death. I first met Marion in 1988 when I went to my first workshop with her. We had corresponded since 2003.
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