In two days, I will have been a widow for one year.  These twelve months have flown.  Some days have been harder than others—holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. Some times of the day are harder than others—waking up alone, dinner time, bed time.  Last year at this time our boys and I were watching as Peter stopped eating and drinking because that was the only way he could hasten his death.

As he put it, “I am not in pain, but being helpless hurts.”

Somehow, with the support of friends and family, I have had a good year.  I am slowly getting used to coming home to an empty apartment. I’m doing better at saying “my” or “I” rather than “our” or “we.”

There are so many things in the world which aren’t going well.  I remain lucky and grateful.

And sometimes, lonely.