Reflections on the fifth deathiversary
My Favourite Husband's final resting place. And just like that: f ive years. Where did the time go? Cliche and true. If someone had told me five years ago that my shattered world would be anything less than pain- filled, I would’ve scoffed. Scoffed in blinding anger. I would’ve said there’s no way this broken woman would be full of life and energy. No way she would be anything less than numb and hollow. No way life would ever again hold the joy of colour, of movement, of love. I would’ve said I didn’t want to heal. I didn’t want to feel. I wanted nothing except to remain numb, cold and empty. Angry. Bitter. Wronged by God. Even then, though, I’m not sure I was completely any of those things. I still felt emotions. I still bled inside. I think I wanted to be all of those things — angry, bitter, numb — however, I would’ve had to work at not feeling. Work hard at staying angry. I wasn’t prepared to do the work that came from existing and not living. And so, th...
