April 10, 2016 will be the three year anniversary of my husband George’s death.
I’d hoped to feel healed by now—to have emerged from grieving stronger and complete—but most of the time I don’t feel that way. It’s like there’s this sad, little rodent within me that scurries against my ribs when it’s sad or anxious, like some part of me dissolved into this animal after George died.
It usually happens at night, when I’m alone—this little beast asks, now please read the rest of it here.
This is huge site. I can’t tell where this piece is on the site. It gets featured if enough folks see it. Please share if you like it. This sums up my three years since George died. It was a hard one to put out there.
