The Fire

13 days left.   13 days until the love of my life is gone. I am working in the yard, packing, preparing for our annual company seminar, getting ready to travel back to the states.   We are working together, taking care of the plants, settling into our new house in Nicaragua, enjoying this place in life while we take care of the daily chores.   We are savoring the days of sun, ocean views, coffee on the back porch in our rocking chairs and we at the same time looking forward to getting home, getting him the help he needs to get past the depression, time to spend with his parents, time to heal.   We talk about it…everyday we talk about it…how he is feeling, what he is thinking.   He talks about getting better, his plan to get better.   We see his psychiatrist the day after we get back.   We have a plan, we have hope.     One year ago, 13 days were all I had left with the love of my life and I had no idea. This is all I can think about.   Memories of our beautiful life toget

All of my thoughts lately are fixed on April 11th.   The one year anniversary is coming.   Every day  it gets closer and I can see it.   The clouds are rolling in.   The sunshine is gone and in the distance, a dark, turbulent storm is brewing and headed straight for me.   Every day  I try hard to remember what we were doing at this time last year.   I wonder if it was the last time we did this or saw that together.   Which day was the last that we held hands and walked on the beach?   When was the last time we ate at our favorite pizzeria on the bay?   In my mind, I can see his face, thinner, sullen, the occasional smile more faint, those adorable eyes that disappeared when he laughed now troubled and sad.   Even though nights were hard for him, there was always the hope of a new day.   We were both praying each day would be the day he would feel better.   As difficult as these days were, no matter how he was feeling, he still got up and came straight out to the back porch to kiss

I have gained 30 pounds since Jon died.   How’s that for an opening line?   Yep,   I spent 2016 losing it and 2017 gaining it back.   Is it because I'm lazy or don't care anymore or because I drown my sorrows in Talenti gelato and bowls of queso?  Well.....maybe sometimes, but the truth is, I'm not  ready to be healthy yet.   It’s quite embarrassing to discuss, but it is real so I’m thinking maybe I’m not the only person that struggles this way....and you know me, I have to be real.   I have joked a thousand times, “Oh, sure. I couldn’t be one of those people that loses 50 pounds when they’re grieving.   I have to be the one that packs it on instead!   Thanks, God!”   Here’s the deal….it’s not really so much about food or will power or exercise.  It's that it seems appropriate.  Honestly, I’m quite tired of it.   It’s not fun to feel like a total slug or not fit into any of my clothes.   It kinda sucks, but there’s a reason I haven’t made the necessary changes.   Quite