It’s been seven months since Peter died.  I will never stop missing him.

But I’ve stopped feeling sad every day at dinner time.  And some mornings I don’t reach over to the empty side of the bed when I wake up.

In the past week, I’ve had two visitors who hadn’t seen me in six months.  They both said I looked much better than the last time they were here.  (Of course, they hadn’t told me how awful I looked in the first place.)

I will be forever grateful for my years with Peter, but there are still people to see, places to go, and a life to live. 

I’ve turned a corner.