A First Step

We all have a "worst" nightmare, something that scuttles about in the deepest, darkest corners of our minds, a scenario we pray will never come true. I would give anything not to have to tell you this, but my worst nightmare recently became my reality.

Eight weeks ago I lost my best friend, my soul mate, my hero. My darling husband was a true warrior, and fought long and hard, but ultimately the leukemia that invaded our happy lives refused to release its grip on him. I know he is at peace now, free from suffering and pain. There is some measure of comfort in that, yet I miss him more than I can say. My heart is broken. I had no idea grief could be this achingly profound.

"Life goes on."

If I had a dime for every time I've heard those words these last weeks, I'd have bulging, jingling pockets. I know people are just trying to help but it's hard to believe that life can indeed go on when my heart, soul and mind are all lamenting the life I've lost.

Yet somewhere inside this broken woman (believe me, there are some moments when I feel completely shattered so "broken" fits) lurks the niggling thought that somehow, some way, I have a chance to reclaim at least a smidgen of the blissful life we had before the cancer struck. I know my life will never be what it was. How could it be? The center of my universe has moved on without me.

Still, I know I've got to find a way to recapture some of the joy that filled our world. Vito would not want me to build a wall of misery around myself and quite honestly, I'm not prepared to do that. He fought so valiantly for every minute that I refuse to waste any of the days allotted to me. I want him to be content in Heaven, not railing over my self-imposed imprisonment in an impenetrable fortress of grief.

I always believed the "writers write" adage. It apparently holds true for widowed writers, as well. It's been ages since I put fingers to keyboard but just sitting here chatting with you brings a small measure of freedom from the anguish that has become so familiar.

This feels...dare I say it?...good. It's a small thing, I know, but it's my first step back to...well, back to being someone I recognize.

To all of you who were incredibly kind, loving and supportive during Vito's agonizing illness, thank you. I will be eternally grateful for all you did for us. We could never have made it as far as we did without your help.

Thanks for continuing on the journey with me. I know I'm blessed to have such an amazing support system.

And to those of you (you know who you are!) who've oh-so casually asked, "When do you think you'll get back to writing?", here's my answer:

"Now."

My fabulous husband made himself very clear on this point. He wanted me to continue writing. And me? I want to--no, that's not right--I need to keep writing.

Writing will fill some of the long, lonely hours that suddenly face me. It might help turn my upside-down world back on its feet. And the best part? Before long, I'll be lost in a romance where the hero is strong, brave, loyal, sexy, funny, intelligent...

You get the idea. If I begin writing again, a portion of my days will be spent in the company of a dashing hero with curly black hair. I'll fall back into the wonderfully romantic dreams such a hero inspires, hopefully leaving some of this worst nightmare pain behind. I'll...

Ah...excuse me. It seems there's a book calling me. Or, at least, the hero beckons. I'll let you know how this story progresses. For now, I'm off to open a new file, and take that first step. Wish me well!