Sunday, February 28, 2010


It has been five years since my husband passed. I suppose that is a fact we have covered. What is next in life? I was 29 when he passed, had three children who were all school-age, and had lived a very fulfilling life. Those eleven years were full of life and living and 'getting somewhere'. Now. Now I feel as though I do less thriving than I do surviving. I go to work at a job that does not carry with it a possibility for much a future or the ability to really use and develop my talents on a regular basis. Don't get me wrong. I have a good job... it is just not a source of personal fulfillment. I come home and am faced with the challenges of raising teens and pre-teens. Is there something more? In ten years, what will I say I have accomplished? I get frustrated with myself sometimes, as I think I should not question this or worry as the only success I need in these ten years are good, solid, strong children.

I don't get 'down' too often in regards to this - but sometimes there are incidents that happen that bring me down. As is the case now.

Someone whom I respect made an attack on my integrity and my character. He was wrong. Whether a fabrication or misinterpretation, I don't know. But it left me wondering what else I have to cling to. When I come home at the end of the day and my bucket feels as though it has been emptied... and there is no one to fill it... it leaves me questioning myself. Every action, statement, personality trait to see if I could figure out why this attack had been made.

I spent the evening trying to distract myself with mindless tasks that needed to be completed. I worked until very late, then I climbed into Chris' pajamas and went to bed. Overall feeling very low. I crawled into bed exhausted both physically and mentally. I turned the radio on in hopes of gleaning some distraction from my thoughts. Immediately the song Live Like You Were Dying was playing. This song takes me back to when Chris was sick, as it was released just months after his diagnosis and the words were very relevant to our lives. Instantly I could feel him there with me and the tears flowed. I think I apologized for being such a dork. For allowing something like this to bother me and affect me to the level that I needed to bother him. That he needed to come and comfort me. Certainly there are REAL issues in life - and someone attacking my integrity and character does not equate me being a person of poor integrity and character. But, sometimes that is hard to feel in the moment. So, I layed there and absorbed his presence and his strength.

The next morning I was faced with a daunting 'to-do' list but was still feeling burdened with the events of the previous day. I talked to a friend who pointed out that Satan will attack those things, such as our integrity, that are important to us. She was right, and if I want to keep evil influences out of my house - I needed to let this go. I got on my knees and prayed. I asked for the evil to leave my home. Then I sat down to read my scriptures, hoping the Lord would be bound to bring me peace from those words. I opened up my Book of Mormon to the book of Alma, 4th chapter and I read. I finished the chapter, feeling better, but needing more. I kept reading. I made it half way through Chapter five before I found the message that was there... just for me... This is what I read:

And now behold, I ask of you.....
Have ye spiritually been born of God?
Have ye received his image in your countenances?
Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?
Do ye exercise faith in the redemption of him who created you?
Do you look forward with an eye of faith, and view this mortal body raised in immortality, and this corruption raised in in-corruption, to stand before God to be judged according to the deeds which have been done in the mortal body?

I say unto you, can you imagine to yourselves that ye hear the voice of the Lord, saying unto you, in that day: Come unto me ye blessed, for behold, your works have been works of righteousness upon the face of the earth...

The tears flowed again, but this time there was gratitude in those tears. For a loving Heavenly Father who reached out... who reminded me WHO I need to be concerned with. Which is Him, my Savior Jesus Christ. If my works are pleasing to Him, despite what others may say, I can press onward with steadfast faith and leave the evil one behind.

Saturday, February 27, 2010


As we sat at the dinner table last night my 10 year old inquired as to if his teacher had called. "No, should I expect her to be calling?" **shrugs** "If she were to call, what might she want?" "I lost my backpack" Now this is a fact that is well-known. I have looked everywhere for his backpack to no avail. "She is going to call me because you lost your backpack?" "It has a library book in it" "She is calling me about a late library book?" **shrugs** Moments later the phone rang... Yes, it was his teacher. Of course the story was a little different from her end. He was missing some homework assignments. :)

Does that ever happen to you? Just after you mention something, it happens. Well, this was the first of two for last night. After dinner I went to the gym. As I walked in, there was one of my husband's friends. Remember? One of the ones I said finds me invisible. As I walked in I didn't notice him at first, but then he caught my eye as he looked RIGHT AT ME! Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing my husband's jacket, shoes and ring. Maybe that is what caught his eye. Either way, I decided I was going to make contact tonight. No more running. No more pretending you don't see me. I situated myself on the treadmill closest to his that was open. Spent some time there, then went on the elliptical right in front of him. He continued running, and I went to the weights. I finished a set and all of the sudden realized he was not on the treadmill any longer. No! I didn't just lose my chance, did I? I looked around and did not see him. crud. I moved down to the next weight machine. As I was in the middle of my set - he walked by me. Yes. I am going to get him. All of the sudden I realized I didn't know his name. I mean, I know what his "nickname" was that my husband always called him, but I COULD NOT think of his name! I thought and thought. nothing. oh well. I finished my sets, stood up, took my headset out of my ears, walked over to the machine he was on, looked at him and said, "Hi G" (I called him by the nickname my husband used... I am just protecting the identity of the innocent). He replied "oh, hi. Kim, right?" "Yes" "I thought when I just walked by you, I uh, I thought you looked familiar". We continued and had a nice conversation.

Friday, February 26, 2010


For any new 'widows' out there please note #2 in...

Lesson Manual: How to Be a Widow
2. Learn to forgive because there will be many, even your closest friends, who will behave badly. People will say things that hurt your feelings. They will judge you. As a widow, you don't need the baggage. It gets far too heavy to carry. You have to let go or it could drown you.

My oldest just struggled. He was in the fourth grade when his father passed. In the fifth grade we moved to a new school as a result of my selling our home. For the other two children, there were many things about this school that were better for them. But, the oldest brought out all the bad in this school district.

By the end of fifth grade, he had many "F's" as a result of his 'checking out'. I felt that he needed to be fed. He needed a boost to his spirits. His F's were not a result of mental know how - they were emotionally based. We could not expect his grades to rise simply by imposing additional consequences on him. We needed to lift him out of the hole he was sitting in.

That spring the college was putting on a production of The Wizard of Oz. I had inquired if they might need some young talent, but was informed it was already being taken care of. I discovered many of the children in my son's school were participating in the play. About a month before the production I was contacted by the director. They needed another child - so Christopher was invited to audition. He was awarded the role of a 'flying combat monkey' and a 'munchkin'. The director asked that he join the practices with the other 'munchkins' on Friday mornings before school. The practice was held at the school and ended 10 minutes after school began.

I informed Christopher's teacher and principal that he would be participating, therefore he would be a few minutes late on Friday morning. They let me know his grades were not such that they felt this was wise. I let them know 10 minutes on a Friday morning would not make the difference between "F's" and "A's". In response, I was curtly told that ONLY THE TALENTED CHILDREN were allowed to participate in this production, and HE WAS NOT AMONG THE TALENTED CHILDREN. yeah. those are fighting words.

This is one battle I won! :) And, If I do say so myself, I have never seen such an adorable flying monkey beating the lion up!!

Thursday, February 25, 2010


As a continuation to yesterday's post... There was one exception to my run. He was the last date.

One of the girls I worked with had pestered me for a couple months to allow her to set me up. I would quickly shut her down every time. One day I was sitting in my office and she came in and took a photo on her cell phone. Now, even with the advancements in technology - it is extraordinarily RARE to get a GOOD photo of someone from a camera phone. She snapped the photo - and I quickly asked her what she thought she was doing. She divulged her plan to text the photo to the guy she was trying to set me up with. I thought, perfect!! Because that will only make him also say "no thank you".

A couple days later I had walked out on the sales floor. It was quiet with no customers. The girl, "C", again, begged for her to be allowed to set me up. I, as nicely as possible, explained to her that the kind of guys she would like - are not the same as the kind of guys I would like. She then explained that is why he was perfect for me! He was not even close to her type. Another one of the girls vouched for the guy and also encouraged me to try it. I caved. He was arranged as the last date.

When the day arrived, having just had half a dozen BAD dates, I was annoyed that I had committed to spending any of my time this way. I figured it would be easy enough to keep short. I walked in to the determined meeting location and having to figure out who he was, was not a difficult task. There was only one person there! I was relieved that at the very least I would have some eye candy for the next hour. As lunch began, we began with some standard "get to know you" talk. Luckily, we didn't have to stick to all standard, as I had sufficiently 'googled' him prior to our meeting. I had found out a few things about him that we could discuss... such as his losing streak in tennis at the local club.

We had good conversation, so good in fact, I started to interrogate him to see if I could extract some of the same behavior I had experienced in the previous two weeks. Nothing. All good.

The end of our encounter was coming to a close and typical as with them all, he asked if he could have my phone number. I provided my cell. NO, not my work cell.... MY cell.

When the date was almost to a close my friend from work was already calling him to find out how it went. Her first question? What number did she give you? His response: "What?" ... "What number did she give you?"... "Why?"... "Because the number she gave you will tell all as to how SHE felt it went, what's the number?"... he gave her the number. She cheered!

Wednesday, February 24, 2010


About a year after my husband's death I had several friends wanting to fix me up and some guys just pursuing me. I was attempting to dodge it all. To be perfectly honest I didn't date much before I had married - so I wasn't too anxious to jump into it after his death.

I finally cracked under the pressure. I think I was comforted by the fact that I was leaving my job - so I could provide my work number and it wouldn't matter as I would not have that number much longer.

For everyone that wanted to fix me up, I informed them: lunch only. This was a safe way of going about this as: 1. I would not have to arrange for daycare in the evening. 2. I could always have a meeting I just HAD to hurry to. 3. I was flexible enough that, should it go well, I could take a long lunch.

I refer to this period in my life as my lunch wh*** (I am keeping this clean for the children) days. I think I had half a dozen dates in about two weeks. Sadly, I can not tell you the names of most of the individuals I went out with in those two weeks. I was luckily able to forget a lot of what happened. But, I did learn some valuable things:

1. On a first date you should not spend the entire conversation talking about what a wonderful husband you were - but that your ungrateful ex-wife never appreciated you. I don't care.

2. On a first date you should not divulge to the other party your desire to have children with them. Freaky

3. On a first date you should not tell the other party how you make sure your young children are fully aware of what a horrible person their mother is. Yikes

4. On a first date should you find that you are having to replay the entire details of the first time you met the other person and the other party has zero recollection - just give it up and move on... Don't keep trying to make them remember. Sorry buddy - you just weren't that memorable!

5. On a first date you should not tell the other party how God told you they were the one you would marry. This type of information should be saved for your wedding night... if you ever make it that far!

So, the good news is I learned a lot as my run being a lunch wh***!

All of these men when they inquired for my phone number were given my work cell number that I would only have for a couple more weeks. I think that is one of the easiest ways to get rid of men! Change your number, and your job, and your address! Yes, I did all three!

Tuesday, February 23, 2010


This post is not intended for those with a weak stomach...

I have met some strong and independent women in my life that I am certain would make better widows than I do. I suppose that could be part of the reason this lot was given to me... I had a lot to learn from it.

My first clue that surviving widowhood would not come easy to me should have have been when my husband was in the hospital. I struggled making it three weeks. The day before my husband went in for surgery I decided to clean out the fridge. I knew I would not be home cooking very much for the next couple weeks - so it seemed to make sense to me to throw out anything that would not still be good in two weeks. Among the things I threw in the garbage that day was some raw perch. My husband had caught and prepared the fish, but he was seriously lacking in appetite - so he had not eaten it. I tossed the raw fish in the garbage.

My husband and I had to be at the hospital by 6am Monday morning. We arrived and he was prepped and the surgery began shortly after. I sat in the hospital room all day. Waiting... just waiting for the doctor to come out with any updates. They were occasional and slow. But every report was positive - things were going well. There were larger and more numerous tumors than what they had anticipated, so the surgery was slow going, but they were making progress. I think it was around 4:30 or 5:30 Tuesday morning when they came out to tell me the surgery was complete. Chris was sleeping and would be for some time - so it was advised that if I wanted to go home, now would be the best time. I went into see him and spent a short while with him, just watching him sleep - then I headed home to change my clothes and get ready for the day.

I arrived home around 7:30 or 8:00 and the furthest thing from my mind was putting the garbage out on the curb. As I have shared before, that wasn't even typically one of my chores. I took a shower and returned to the hospital.

It was September, but the temperature was still warm and the weather was beautiful that week, which served to be a blessing with all the driving I was doing. Saturday evening I was home taking care of a few things and went to take the week's garbage out. It was dark, but as I lifted the lid to place my garbage inside, I noticed something was dripping off the lid. I returned to the house to turn on the outside light and get a flash light, as I could not imagine why there was something in the garbage can that would be dripping. The sight I saw, I will describe... but stop reading now unless you have a tough stomach. There were thousands of maggots... literally overspilling the sides of the garbage can and falling to the pavement. Upon moving the garbage can, I discovered a mound of maggots a couple inches thick laying on the ground. I had no idea what to do. So, I called my husband's fishing friend. I explained my situation and let him know I did not need his physical help - I just needed to know how you go about getting rid of them. I had tried bug sprays, but this did not seem to do anything. I tried pouring water on them in hopes of drowning them, this made them scatter and they started climbing the brick exterior of my home. I didn't know what else to do.

He said he would be right over. I again assured him I would handle it... I just didn't know what to do. He said he would be right over. We worked together trying to destroy the thousands of maggots. It appears 'frying' them with a blowtorch is very effective.

Lesson Manual: How to Be a Widow
1. Realize that raw fish will quickly turn to thousands of maggots if left outside in hot weather for more than one week. If this most inconvenient situation should happen - a blowtorch would be the easiest solution for ridding your patio of maggots.

Monday, February 22, 2010


Eighteen years ago an article was published in Fortune Magazine that talked about the crisis children were in. It stated "no one seems to care"

To summarize: Of the 65 million Americans under 18, many live in poverty, 22% live in single-parent homes, and almost 3% live with no parent at all. Violence among the young is rampant. Playground fights that used to end in bloody noses now end in some fatalities. Schools that once considered talking in class a capital offense are routinely checking children for weapons, questioning them about drugs. A good public education, safe streets, and family dinners—with both father and mother present—seem like quaint memories of a far distant past. The parents of nearly 2,750 children separate or divorce each day. Every day over 500 children ages 10 to 14 begin using illegal drugs, and over 1,000 start drinking alcohol. Nearly half of all middle-schoolers abuse drugs or alcohol or become involved in immorality.

If that was eighteen years ago, I can only imagine what the stats are now in 2010. One of my biggest fears upon becoming a widow was the fact that my children were now a statistic. They were now among the children living in a single-parent home. I did not want time to pass and people to look at my children and sadly say "what a shame... his father died when he was young... how sad his father must be for what he has become". I was terrified that the life my children were now entering - that would have them home without a parent, and when they did have a parent I was tired, would cause them to choose poor paths in life. Paths that would cause them unmeasurable sadness and heartache.

I have attempted to be keenly aware of the impact this has had on my children and have spent much time on my knees praying to know what I could do to keep them from becoming even more of a statistic. I suppose this in one of the areas in which I have felt failure. I never used to really raise my voice to the kids or yell. I am certain they don't remember that those days once existed. Now, I am on a constant guilt trip for my inability to control my actions better. I suppose it is the combination of being tired and scared. I just don't want my kids to end up on a path that is far from the path they would have had if their father had been here. I want them to be able to develop a strong testimony of Jesus Christ - and have that as their rock, their foundation. But making that happen when the world has so much more time with them than I do becomes my great challenge. For even when I have 'time' with them, that time is spent cleaning the house, making the meals, paying the bills, servicing the car, doing the yard work and all the other things that just living life requires. Is there enough time to be a mom? Is there enough time to teach them what they need to know so they can be strong and immovable?

I have learned that for me I cannot afford to NOT live the gospel of Jesus Christ to the fullest. Joseph B. Wirthlin stated, “The storms of the evil one can be stopped at the very entrance of our homes”. So, that is what I hope and pray for everyday.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

BECAUSE OF WHAT I AM (a widow that is)

Last year a friend’s husband was diagnosed with stage-four cancer. He had to go through an intense round of chemotherapy, was very ill and the future was unknown. My heart reached out to the family as I could clearly understand the trial they were facing. Part of me wanted to call and offer my help or just a listening ear. Another part of me (the part that won over) did not.

Do people want to see me… ME… when their husband is sick? I felt like seeing me is a big reminder of what could be. I did not feel as though I would bring hope – I would bring a gray cloud. I thought about them and prayed for them every day. Mid-summer I ran into my friend. I gave her a hug and inquired to how they were all holding up. I let her know how much I thought of them and prayed for them. I was grateful for that moment.

Her husband’s health has gotten better and he just recently returned to work.

There is something unjust about being in a position where you want to help, but because of who you are and what you are – feeling as though your presence would not be a lift to their spirits.

Saturday, February 20, 2010


There are a few tasks that were my husbands and some that I was fine with assuming as my own. He took care of the garbage. I made the meals. We split the household responsibilities.

Although we had never discussed it, I am positive teaching the children to drive would have been HIS job. I received a packet in the mail the other day from my insurance company... "Vehicle & Driving Safety, On The Road, A Program for Teens and Their Parents". See, it doesn't say "mothers". It says "parents". Which means I should be able to pass it off to someone else to do.

Instead... this sends to me to my bedroom to crawl under my covers, assume the fetal position, until I am somehow brave enough to face my reality.

Friday, February 19, 2010


As a new widow, I knew other women who were widows, but I did not know any 'young widows' who were in a situation like mine (raising kids still).

Shortly after my husband died I began taking the kids to a bereavement group at Hospice. It was usually a fun activity night that allowed the kids to mingle with other kids who had lost their father and allowed us mothers to talk about life and how we were getting through. We only made it to a few of these before the kids initiated a full revolt against attending these evening. So we stopped.

I did come away from this experience with one very valuable thing. "J". The first time I attended this activity night, I was struck by another lady who was there. She was positive and honest. She wasn't afraid to smile, and helped pick up the other ladies who were there. When the evening was over she and I were walking out together and began talking. She had three kids, as I did - although hers were a few years older than mine. We made it as far as our vehicles and continued chatting about life. The kids sat in the vehicles and turned up the radio while others ran around on the lawn, and others sat there with ornery expressions. But, we just talked. And talked. And talked. We finally caved to the pleadings of the children and exchanged phone numbers and were off.

Here and there over the next five years we would talk. We were very different people but were connected by our similar burdens. I have found great peace in knowing her and watching that somehow we seemed to take similar paths. Words and people and situations might be different - but there was also this strange similarity that gave me peace to see... it is all normal. It is all part of a process. We have both evolved.

I laugh to myself sometimes when I am in the middle of 'crashing'... mentally, physically... she seems to disappear as well. I have quickly gathered that it is because we are on the same train. We can go full speed ahead for awhile... but then we stop. Recover. And then we are back.

If you don't have a 'J' I hope you will find one here. I hope you can read of my experiences and feel understood. Have your feelings validated. Sometimes... just knowing we aren't crazy can be one of the greatest gifts!

Thursday, February 18, 2010


Have you seen the movie Must Love Dogs? I vaguely remember seeing it... I don't remember many of the details of the movie, except I remember thinking "I am living this".

Within the first year of being widowed I was visiting my sisters and it was determined that they would enroll me in an online dating service. I believe the goal was to find a hunky man who just happened to live within a few short miles of my sisters. For, then I would certainly want to move to the west!

My oldest sister set up my profile. I don't remember all that it said, but I do remember it promising burned toast for laughs. At least she didn't try to over-sell me. She paid the $30.00 fee and my sisters found the chore of finding Mr. Right for me to be very enjoyable. My father thought it was the best $30.00 we ever spent in terms of the quantity of entertainment it was providing. I had planned on being in the west for two weeks. Within a few days of my arrival they had found a particular gentleman to stalk. Yes, stalk. We are a scary group. He looked cute enough to intrigue I sent him some messages. Once we had his name - we went to google... trying to find out everything and anything there is to know. I have one sister who is particularly good at stalking men. I will have to share her talent in more depth at a later time. Once we had a general idea of who he was, and we had yet to find any newspaper articles indicting him for any crimes... he began getting messages from my sisters under my account. Don't worry - they identified themselves as being someone other than I when sending the messages. He partook of our game and played well except for the few occasions he found his own real life to be more important than prompt replies the the messages that were being sent.

Time was ticking. The days for me to be in the west were coming to an end and I had not even come close to falling for this guy. Of course, I had not even met this guy. It had been determined his living location was within the allowable distance from my sisters. A move had to be made. He was baited... we waited.... and all cheered when he took the bait and invited me to lunch.

We met at a lunch location of the Mexican variety. He was tall... dark haired... we were off to a pretty good start. As the conversation began I found him to have a terrific sense of humor. I made a few quiet jokes that he did not react to... I presumed he obviously had not heard me. After he held the talking floor for a time he commented "I sometimes get sick of dating, because I feel like it's all about me when I tell my life story". I replied "I can understand. If it would make you feel more comfortable, I am OK with this being all about ME". OK. I thought that was funny. He didn't react. He continued the conversation.

The conversation wasn't bad - but I quickly noticed that every time I made a joke, he did not react. That's it. You HAVE to find me a little bit funny it you want me to spend any time with you.

We made it to the parking lot a couple hours later. He reached in and received my cheek as a landing place for his proposed buss.

I returned home to the anxious crowd looking for details. My details were very direct. He didn't find me funny. It was suggested that perhaps I was not funny. But, I felt he could have at least been cordial enough to pretend I was funny!

They fed me lines like "He was too distracted by your beauty to notice your jokes". If only He's Just Not That Into You had already come out... then I could have been spared these lies.

I was somehow coerced into a second date. Breakfast at a pancake establishment shortly before leaving town. This interaction was shorter as he had to be to work by a set time. I was fine with that. Although, he did seem more relaxed, more interested, and laughed more.

I never did figure out which of my sisters warned him previous to this second encounter.

Alas, it was not meant to be. I flew home and returned to my normal life (which did not include the on-line dating scene). He continued on, and I was told he married not too long after. And in all the craziness of this world he ended up moving to the same town as my sister and was a teacher to one of her sons. The sad part? My nephew was keen enough on my love life to recognize the pieces of this puzzle and put it all together!

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


A week before my husband died, I sat by his bedside enjoying some conversation. He inquired as to what I would do after he died. I didn't know and I didn't care. I wanted him with me always. He suggested that maybe I should move out by my parents and family in Utah. I shrunk. No, this is my home. I love the east. He pointed out that the options for me to re-marry were much more slim here. I began to cry
and told him we were done with this conversation.

I did get into the 'dating world' after he passed. Or, maybe it found me. Either way I dated. I loved. But, I did not re-marry. yet.

My kids had to adjust to not only the death of their father, but they also entered a new world of babysitters and not having their mom or dad home at their disposal. Mom volunteering in the classroom or on field trips was no longer a given.

My daughter spoke out the most about this. She was very frustrated that I could not be at everything. One day we were driving in the car and she asked if I could fill out a paper regarding volunteering at the school. I explained that I would not be able to volunteer as I had to work. Very matter-of-factly she inquired "Why don't you just get married again so you don't have to work?". I looked at her sad little face and tried to assure her that I was I was trying. In a very serious voice, she retorted, "You're not trying hard enough".

Tuesday, February 16, 2010


I have a pretty good sense of self. Anyone who knows me well will agree with that statement. I think it was pretty easy to gain and maintain while married to someone who loved me, being a stay-at-home mom and being able to plan my days to be filled with activities that were enriching to the children and to me. I lived a life that was full of success.

Widowhood has been a different journey in terms of maintaining this positive feeling. I feel as though I have failed repeatedly... and that then while I am down someone is kicking me and I just keep sinking. Somehow as a widow the doors have been open to way too many people for them to tell me exactly all the mistakes I am making. I guess people figure that since I don't have my husband to keep me in line, I am not capable of making good decisions. So, they give their two cents as to what THEY think I should do and how that would keep me from failing repeatedly. This was especially the case in the first couple years. Lots of opinions of how I should be living my life.

I watched the movie Annapolis not too long ago. At one point in the movie they are welcoming the new plebes to Annapolis. The speaker says, "Many of you have only known success your whole life. This year you will know failure. Because failure is a much better teacher than success." As I contemplated that powerful statement, I knew the truthfulness of it. In my life, I have grown to be a better mother, a better person as I have experienced failure these past few years. My failures have made me stronger.

Part of this journey is forgiving and not harboring any resentment for those who have only had good intentions in giving me their 'wise advice'. I don't think anyone shared without the best of intentions. I hope (and still believe) that the big decisions I made, I made correctly. I involved my Father in Heaven, counseled with Him and did not get too far off path.

Yes, failures have been the best teachers. I hope that I can be a good student.

Monday, February 15, 2010


Gratitude is trait I am far from perfecting. My kids are very good at pointing that out to me. It is unfortunately in my nature to overlook the good that was done and focus on what wasn't done. I may ask my kids to do a series of things and without expressing gratitude for what they DID, I note what they did NOT do. I am working on this. I am glad though, that I can say (of course Chris is not here to say otherwise) that I was grateful for the good husband I had.

Chris loved me. He truly cared about me and desired for me to develop my talents and pursue my interests. It was often not convenient for him, in fact often inconvenient - but he was always willing to find a way. He made sure my needs were taken care of and thought about what those needs were before I ever voiced them. One tender moment I will always remember was when he was ill. It was following an intense surgery that had him in the hospital for three weeks. He was still very weak and in pain. I was headed to work and it occurred to Chris that because I had made several trips to the hospital while he was there (50 miles each direction - and I drove up one to three times a day) the oil and other fluids should be checked before I did any more driving. Chris was not concerned about the car - he was concerned that I would not have any problems while on the road for work that day.

I clearly remember him painfully bent over walking out to the car. In my always irreverent way, I jokingly told him to hurry it up - 'cause I had places to be. He just smiled and kept on. He then carefully checked over all those things that I hope are getting checked now when I take my car in for service. He was a tremendous emotional strength to me. He believed in me and he inspired me to be better.

What I miss most... he apologized for me when my comments were too brash with others. :)

I am so glad that ours was not a marriage that took his death or his absence for me to be grateful, I was grateful for him every day.

Sunday, February 14, 2010


Let's face it... there ARE a few advantages to being widowed. So, here is a list of the pro's and con's of being a widow on Valentine's Day....

*No one buys me a useful gift, like a bathroom scale, for Valentine's Day. In fact I can buy myself whatever I want, and if I splurge there is no one to 'justify' the expense to.
*I don't have to listen to anyone complain about what a 'crock' the holiday is
*I don't have to find a perfect gift to give
*I don't have to wonder if my husband will even remember to do something
*I don't have to cook a nice meal. I can have a bowl of cereal or take myself out for steak... the choice is completely mine
*I am not frustrated by the lack of preparation that went in to the day

*My love... is not here

Saturday, February 13, 2010


The summer my husband was ill we bought a Yukon XL. We had a boat and had been using his Tundra to tow it - but it was a tight squeeze in the back for the kids. The Yukon offered all the towing ability with a lot more internal space. It was his primary vehicle as I was more of a sleek sedan kind of girl. I avoided things like Mini Vans and the trucks were just too big for me to drive.

He really liked the Yukon. It had leather interior and the chemo made him feel chilled - so the heated seats were a huge plus. We usually drove it back and forth to his appointments.

Chris usually had lots of opinions about my driving... probably for good cause. I was a girl from a small town and did not like driving in traffic. He was fearless. He could switch lanes, squeeze in between cars and slide himself through like a stick of butter. I like wide open spaces before I changed lanes. If there was too much traffic - I never moved lanes. I would be perfectly content staying in the same lane the whole drive, versus trying to cut in front of someone or squeeze myself in. It was a rare occasion that I ever drove - if him driving was an option.

One year we drove to Texas for Christmas. Due to bad weather, what would have been a twenty hour drive turned into a thirty hour drive. We had planned to drive straight through as the kids were little and driving while they were asleep was the best and stopping during the day to rest was useless. After about twenty hours of driving Chris had wanted a break. The roads had been icy but it appeared we had reached an area where the ice had melted. I got behind the wheel. Five minutes later I went over a bridge, slid across the road, took the next exit and let him finish the drive there.

While he was sick, the combination of the multiple drives to the "city" and my job at the time that had me on the road a lot had made me a little more comfortable in traffic. One day I was driving on the interstate with him headed to an appointment. We were talking about varios things. He stopped talking. Looked at me, and said "You are really a good driver".

I smiled. What man ever says that to his wife? That was the last step. He was perfect. :0)

Friday, February 12, 2010


My husband died of stomach cancer. He had never smoked a cigarette or had a drink of alcohol in his life. He didn't suffer from heart burn. There was no "known" reason as to how he got stomach cancer.

The day after he died I made some changes to our lifestyle. We only eat Egglands Best eggs now. I don't purchase margarine. We only eat butter. We don't eat smoked sausage. We rarely eat ham. And we don't drink the water from the tap. I went to Culligan's the day after he died and got a water cooler. Don't ask me why. I don't have logical answers.

The five gallon jug the water from Culligan came in was one of the first obstacles I faced as a new widow. They are HEAVY~! And in order to use them you need to be able to pick them up and turn it upside down to put it on the cooler. (I am weak. I was not built to be a widow. I was built to marry a hunky strong man to do all the hard labor for me!) Luckily my brother-in-law showed up a day later and was able to take care of putting the water jug on the cooler for me. I would try to pick it up high enough and flip it around and it was just HARD. It took a couple months before I did it for the very first time without help and without spilling the water. I was so excited! I sent my brother-in-law a text message telling him "I did it!". My first victory of growing stronger (physically) to be able to handle the life of a widow. My sister said to me "At first you will survive, then you will thrive". Being able to put the water jug on was surviving... but this fall when it was time to put the kid's bikes up for the winter... I lifted the bike up above my head to hang it on the hook in the garage where it was usually stored. That I felt was thriving. I didn't even struggle. I just lifted it up there. Then I did a little victory dance.

Thursday, February 11, 2010


My husband and I bought the home we were living in when he passed about two years prior to his death. We took great pride in our home and had spent quite a bit of time and effort in the yard and making it look nice. We had originally moved in right before Christmas - and my husband had a lot of fun decorating the house with Christmas lights the first two Christmases. I loved our home.

The year he was sick, we just tried to get by. To get the things done that really needed to happen. I somehow found time around Halloween to get the kids pumpkins. We carved them and set them outside.

Some of the people in the neighborhood noticed that things were a little different at our home the last few months - but they did not know why. They were not aware how ill he was - but there began to be some 'whispering' among the neighbors when the New Year came and the Christmas lights had never been put up and the Jack 'O Lanterns were still on the front porch stoop... frozen and covered in snow.

There were a few things I did the day after Chris died. One of them was throw the pumpkins out.

Since then whenever one holiday passes to the other and the wrong decorations are up... it takes me back. Funny - how not wanting to relive those last few months motivates me to try and stay on top of things. I have also not put lights up outside on the house since he passed. My kids ask for it every year. Every year I say maybe. But there are some jobs I just don't want to assume. I just want him to do it. And, I guess there is only so much he can do from the other side... and putting up the Christmas lights is not on that list.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


At what point do people grow weary of me talking about Chris? At what point has everyone else moved on, and they really don't want to hear it any more? At what point do I just need to keep it to myself because otherwise I appear to be a widow who just can't move on?

Is it five years? What about ten? When it has been ten years my oldest will hopefully be heading on a mission. His dad should be there to send him off with me. What about fifteen? That may be the year that our daughter gets married. Twenty? I could be welcoming my first grandchild.

The IRS doesn't want to hear about it after three years. Last year was the first year I could no longer be considered a "widow" when I filed my taxes. Now I am "head of househould". So, if they are sick of it... is everyone else sick of it too?

My sisters send me flowers every year on the anniversary of his death. This year, I wondered if they would... at some point they will have to stop... won't they? They sent a beautiful arrangement. I was glad.

What's the perfect balance between remembering my husband as I move forward and not living in the past?

Just questions today... no answers... just questions...

Tuesday, February 9, 2010


What am I supposed to call him? To me, he is my husband. But there have been times I have called him that... and it has only caused confusion.

One of these times was when I was out of state visiting the in-laws. I was dating someone and he had asked me to drop off a bag of things to his friend who lived in the neighboring town from where I was visiting. When I arrived, they invited me in and I had the chance to visit with his friends. They inquired as to what brought me to the area and I explained I was visiting my husband's family.

I didn't think one thing of what I said. After I left, they quickly called the man I was dating to inquire if he knew I had a husband.

I need a great way to put this. I don't like "my first husband" as there is not a second. I would say "my dead husband" but there are many that would not appreciate my irreverence. "My deceased husband"... well.. that just sounds weird. So, what am I supposed to call him?

Monday, February 8, 2010


I still lean on and rely on gaining strength from my husband. I still talk to him. I still expect him to help in any way that he can. Sometimes I ask for specific help. I still feel his presence. Sometimes he is there when I need him and sometimes he surprises me... maybe I just didn't know I needed him.

A couple years after he passed I was dating someone. I started to find my situation to be very confusing. I am sealed to my husband. I love him deeply and with all my heart. But, I know that for me to fall in love again and re-marry and have companionship is something I may want some day, and I know it was something my husband wanted for me. As I was dating I found that I was falling in love with this man. And I started to become very agitated over the situation.... I would call and talk to him when I was struggling with the kids or just having a crummy day and I would feel better when I got off the phone. But sometimes, I would just tell my husband about my bad day, and about the struggles with the kids.

As this continued, I became more concerned. How could I do this? I was loving two men - and I wondered if that was hurting the "mortal" man... This thought was heavy on my heart one day as I was driving around running some errands on my lunch break. I ended up on the road that passes in front of the cemetery where my husband is. As I drove by his stone (you can see it from the road), I spoke these words to him... "Chris, how can I continue to rely on you? Doesn't that somehow betray this other man?". As soon as I said this, my mind shifted to the tasks on my list and I went about my day. I had not waited for his response.

The following day I was home making dinner when my sister called. She said she called because she wanted to tell me about this dream she had the night before that was kinda weird. I froze. I don't know why, because for her to call and say those words was not strange... but I could hardly move and I was overcome with this strange emotion. I also felt like I should grab a pen and find something to write on... so I grabbed what was on the counter - a small white piece of paper and a blue marker. Then I listened.

She explained that in her dream we were all there (all of us sisters) as well as Chris' sisters. Everyone was sitting there talking (she also started to tell me about who had bad hair in the dream, etc.). She said that Chris was there with us - but no one saw him except her. He asked her if she would tell me something for him. She of course agreed and he told her to tell me that I can still lean on him. It doesn't betray anyone. As she spoke those words, I was frozen. I was overcome with emotion. This was a direct reply to the question I had offered him the day before. I could barely hear my sister and she rattled on about how bizarre she thought that was "I mean, really, why would it betray someone for you to rely on him... isn't that so weird?" I was frozen. No, it is not weird. I needed to know this... and I guess I was not listening.. So, thanks for being the one he could come to, so I could get this message.

Sunday, February 7, 2010


Disclaimer: I support organ donation. I think it is such a wonderful gift to be able to improve or save another's life. I would hope that, should I die early in life, any of my organs could be used to help another.

My husband passed away at 10:00 pm. I had stayed with him at the hospital until about 9:00 pm. His whole family was there, it was obvious his time was coming soon. My kids were at home with my girlfriend who had become their second mother over the previous nine months, so I decided to head home and relieve her. I received the phone call that he passed minutes after I walked in the door.

My girlfriend offered, and I easily accepted her offer, to stay the night with me. I made some phone calls to let my family know, sent my boss a text and told him I was forwarding my work cell calls to him. Then we went to bed. I fell asleep quickly, and had a night of wild dreams. Until the phone rang at 2:00 am.

"Mrs. Wawro, we are calling from.. blah blah blah.. we are wondering if you would be interested in donating your husband's eyes"

"You want his eyes"


At that moment my thoughts returned to earlier in the day. To the moment that my husband woke up to say goodbye to his children who were leaving. The final goodbye. The moment the children walked out the door he had a seizure. I loved his eyes. He had big brown beautiful eyes... but that moment... the moment that he was seizing.. It was frightening. There was such pain, deep pain and struggling in his eyes.

"You want his eyes" I repeated.

"Yes, that is the organ we are interested in"

I looked at the clock. "I'm sure this is time sensitive, but do I need to decide this moment?" I was so groggy and wasn't sure if I was really hearing this.

"We could call back at 6am"

"That would be good, thank you"

I hung the phone up and laid there. My girlfriend didn't say much, just waiting if I wanted to talk. I tried to close my eyes, but my thoughts were now haunted with the vision of his eyes earlier that day. So, I laid there. Then I started to giggle. And I couldn't stop laughing. Was this for real? Someone just called me at 2am and asked if they could have my husband's eyes. Really? I guess it was laugh or cry... and I am more of a laugher.

As I laid there for the next four hours I was in and out of sleep. When the moments of sleep came they were haunted with visions of his eyes earlier that day.

The call came as expected at 6am. I said no. I don't know why. But, I said no.

Saturday, February 6, 2010


My husband had a couple very close friends. One of them he spent many hours out on Lake Eire or in the Canadaway Creek fishing with. They both loved to fish - and enjoyed the pastime together. Often they would take the boys and enjoy the day, while us girls would enjoy some time together as well.

After my husband passed, I called on his fishing friend often for help when I needed it. He was (is) always so gracious in being willing to help me when I need it. One of those days that I really needed his help was about two months after I had moved into the home I am in now. I will warn you now... the weak in stomach... this story may not be for you!

After I moved in to this home - my niece moved in with me. It was her senior year of high school and her mother was moving out of state - but she wanted to finish her high school career in the east. About a month later I noticed a foul smell. I could not tell where it was coming from - but I thought maybe one of the cats (we had one and my niece had one) had caught a mouse that was decaying in the house. We searched all over - but could find nothing.

Every day I would come home from work and feel as though the smell was getting worse and worse. I finally could not take the smell any longer. I called my husband's fishing friend and asked him what he thought I should do. I told him that I had searched the house and could not find anything. I explained the the scent was the worst just as I was entering the house but that I could also smell it stronger (not as strong as I could by the front door) while in my niece's bedroom. I thought an animal must have gotten in the attic, as her room had a small access door off the closet. I had even gone into the attic and looked around - but found nothing.

He kindly agreed to come over and take a look. He went up into the attic with a flash light. Searching every corner and crevice, it took him a little while - but he finally found it. There was something way down in the rafters of the house. He could not get there (without the fear of falling) so he had to come up with some creative way of getting, whatever it was, out. As he set up some lights and tried to get closer, he quickly realized it was a cat. After asking my niece about it - she started to cry. She revealed that her cat had been missing for a few days. She thought he had just gone outside and she hoped he would come back.

The foul smell was even more foul where my husband's poor fishing friend was having to work and he was not having much luck as the cat seemed to be stuck. After an hour of trying to get the cat, he finally had the idea to remove the front porch light and try to go in from there to retrieve the feline. He asked us to have a bag ready. Once the light was removed the smell became almost unbearable.

In the meantime I called my husband's other good friend who lived in the country. I explained our predicament and explained that the odor was so horrible I didn't know where we would put the feline once we were able to get him out. I inquired if it were possible for us to bury the cat back in his woods. He agreed.

The fishing friend had much more luck once he changed the location he was working from. It was not too much longer and the feline was retrieved and placed in his burial bag. Luckily my friend also drove a truck and agreed to drive me out (with the cat in the bed of the truck) to bury the cat. The odor was so atrocious the entire neighborhood was consumed with the smell. I was so hoping no one would be able to detect which home was letting off the unbearable odor.

Attempting to control my reflex to heave repeatedly, we drove out to my other friend's home. With a cat and a shovel.

Upon our arrival, we found the burial spot had already been prepared. As we finished the burial process, I half worried that the smell would draw animals in and risk the feline being "unburied". But then I determined the odor was so atrocious - no animal would want to come close.

Now, I ask you this. Who has friends as good as these two men? To give up their evening to climb around in my stinking attic and to dig a hole and be ready for me? That is friendship.

As we drove home that evening, I looked at my husband's best friend and said... "I hope the fishing was good. 'Cause having to deal with the widow... not so good".

Friday, February 5, 2010


It is one thing to expect proper behavior from your child in public under normal circumstances... but tell me, how do you expect it at his father's funeral?

My youngest was five when his dad died.

As we sat at the funeral my family lined the front row of pews in the church, along with members of my husband's family. I was sitting there with my sisters right beside me and my children. The youngest, for some reason, refused to sit next to me as the services began. He gravitated towards the casket and ended up sitting directly under it. We tried to coax him out - but he would not come. I had two options... 1. Make a scene with him screaming as I attempted to drag him out from under there in the middle of the funeral or 2. Leave him there.

I opted to leave him alone...

As the funeral progressed, my sisters and I had our peripheral vision on him. He just sat under there for awhile... then he untied his shoes. Gradually he began tying the shoelaces of one shoe around the foot of the stand which held the casket. He then tied his other shoe laces to the stand next to the casket that was holding a bouquet of flowers. Once he had finished his task, he sat.

The funeral services continued and my sisters and I enjoyed the services with one eye up front and one eye on the little five year old boy sitting under the casket. Finally, he grew tired of his position under the casket and went to move. Just as he snapped his legs back to allow himself to move out, the stand that was holding the flowers started to topple with the flowers. The attendees behind us, no doubt, got a chuckle at seeing a row of girls dive in unison to catch the falling flowers.

At that very moment my son remembered he was still tied to the stand and settled back in to untie his shoelaces. The stand stood back up. The flowers went back in place and the service continued with only a questioning glance from the presiding leader from our church.

I returned the look with a smile and my sisters and I took a deep breath and welcomed my son as he rejoined us in the pew.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


I heard on the news one morning that there was a study done that proved that men / women who are widowed or divorced are more likely to have poor health.

I was a young widow. I was healthy. But about two years after my husband passed I started having these strange “episodes”. I had no idea what it was or worse, what was causing it. After six months of it continuing, I finally made a doctor appointment. I didn’t tell anyone I was going. I figured there was a good chance it was just stress and was no big deal. I remember sitting in the doctor office that day describing to the doctor what was happening. He was very serious, and said, “I’ll be honest. I don’t like the sounds of this.” Really? It’s not just stress? He made a script out for me to have some tests run. At this point… again I said nothing to anyone. I was scared. I was the only parent my kids have… and they are sending me to be tested for a brain tumor and MS… along with other things. My world felt like it was spinning. I had a follow up with a neurologist. The neurologist could not get me in for a few weeks, so my doctor offered that if I wanted the results, I could call him – but I would need to wait to meet with the neurologist to understand what it all meant.

I decided not to call my doctor. I was too afraid he would give me bad news and I would be left with hundreds of questions and only Google for my answers. For weeks, me and my secret went about life trying to be normal. I finally met with the neurologist. The tests were fine. No tumor. No MS. They wanted to do an EKG to get a better idea of what was happening. They did the EKG a couple days later, and scheduled me for a follow up two weeks later. An assistant of sorts did the test. When the test was over, she simply said, “I’m sure you will be hearing from the doctor soon. The test results are not normal”. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? So, I have SOMETHING wrong with me… but I have no idea what that is or what this means!!! I finally told my friend. I didn’t know what all to tell her – just that SOMETHING was wrong. The assistant was right. The doctor office called a few days later and moved my appointment up.

My girlfriend came to the appointment with me. I wasn’t sure WHAT to expect that day – and I didn’t want to have to do it alone. I sat in the waiting room with my friend and became lost in thought. I found it too ironic that I was in the same complex two doors down from the doctor that first diagnosed my husband with cancer. This building was cursed. I was sure of it.

My mind went back to the day I found out about my husband. I had been strong. I had been fine. But, I needed my mother-in-law to run donuts to my son’s school as it was his birthday. I didn’t want his day to be disrupted and I had told him I would do this. I had walked out into the hall just thirty feet from where I was sitting and made that phone call. I sobbed. As soon as I had to tell her why my day was now upside down and I was going to be in the hospital with my husband as he had to have tests run. I sobbed.

I so wished I was not so close to where the nightmare began. This town was too small. It was finally my turn and they called me in. The doctor explained I was having partial complex seizures (lots of them I guess.. he didn’t understand why I wasn’t having more episodes) Google later explained to me that this is often hereditary and things like stress, fatigue and poor diet contribute to having the episodes (hmmmmm… I struck out on all three of those accounts. Yes. Yes. And uhhh Yes!). They put me on a horrible drug, that I lovingly refer to as my “stupid pills” because they do just that to me… they make me stupid. I don’t remember anything, my brain functions so slowly… I’m just plain stupid!

Two years later I was in for a regular eye exam and they were concerned over my eye pressure. They sent me to a specialist and I was diagnosed with pigmentary glaucoma suspect.

At this point… I thought it may be time to re-marry just for the sake of the children. I thought my singles ad could read something like:

“Wanted one tall good-looking man to be a husband and a caregiver for a desperate widow who is losing her mind and her eyesight. Must have a solid driving record, as you will need to drive me and my three children around. Long-term good looks are not necessary as before long I probably won’t be able to see you anyway. Don’t delay.. Call today~!”

What do you think? Should I post the single-ad?

Wednesday, February 3, 2010


A year and a half after my husband passed we took a road trip to see friends and family in Texas. It is about a 20 hour drive. On our way home I stopped to get gas about three hours from home. My oldest was in a bad mood and I asked him to get out of the truck and get some air. He decided he needed something out of the back of the Jeep, so he opened the back lift door (I have no car lingo... whatever that back door that lifts up is called) and grabbed what he needed. I proceeded to chastise him that I didn't want him in the back - so he needed to close it. He grabbed a hold of the black tension rod type thingy and pulled on it to close the back. Instead of the door closing, he bent the black tension rod thingy! Now, I know this would be easier to envision if I was using proper terminology - but the point is the black rod, now that it was bent, was keeping the back door from closing! It was late on a Saturday night, I am far from civilization, there are no repair shops open or car dealerships (if they happened to even be anywhere close).

I stood there mad. Mad that my husband wasn't here to fix it because this would surely be no big deal. I examined the rod and how it was attached to the car. I needed a screwdriver (maybe). I went inside the gas station. Stood in line. When it was my turn I looked at the service attendant and explained I needed a screwdriver. The attendant stayed sitting on his little stool about four feet back behind the counter and informed me that he didn't sell screwdrivers. That is fine, perhaps you have one back there I could borrow? No. Could you tell me what is around here - is there someone I could call? I don't know. Listen, I am stranded - my son bent the bar on the back of my jeep and I can no longer close the door. I really need a screwdriver to see if I can get it off. He stared at me blankly. About this time a man had come in to pay for his gas and had heard my last comment. He had a screwdriver in his truck and offered that I could use it. I gratefully accepted.

With the screwdriver in hand I went to remove the bar from the truck. But - this was not a normal screw and my normal screwdriver was not going to do the job I quickly discovered. I stood there in ultimate frustration. Half praying that I would know what to do and half telling my husband to fix this for me. I just wanted to go home. As I stood there enveloped in my thoughts of pleading and frustration... SNAP. It fell off. I started laughing, quickly returned the screwdriver to its owner and got on the road.

I had a big smile on my face the whole way home. I could just envision my husband standing there saying "Just rip it off"... and when I didn't do it - he reached out and did it himself. That was EXACTLY how he would have fixed that problem. Miss you. Thank you!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010


Faith is the firm belief in something for which there is no proof.

In my religion through the years, I had been taught that this life is not the end. There is a life beyond this. In fact, I believe that my husband and I who were “sealed” in our religion, by so doing, are bound together not “until death do us part” but for the eternities. When he was dying I never considered that I would not see him again, I had faith that I would.

After my husband’s death I can remember laying in bed one morning… just processing everything that was happening. And I felt his arms around me. Holding me tight. Not as a memory, but as a real feeling in that moment. The immediate months after his death I came to find he was around a lot. Holding me up. Keeping me from falling off the edge. In those months, faith was no more. I had proof. I KNEW that this life was not the end – because I felt his presence so strongly, so real. I knew. I didn’t have to “believe” or have “faith” any more. I knew.

Monday, February 1, 2010


Probably similar to most couples, my husband and I had "our" friends and we had a few "his" and "hers" friends. Mostly because he had friends from work and I had some friends from story-time at the library and things like that. But I knew his friends. I used to take my husband's lunch to work almost every day. It was a good perk to see him halfway through the day and if the kids were being bad - he could "encourage" them to be good. :) It was our routine. I would sometimes see some of his friends as I was dropping lunch off... or at the company picnic in the summer or at the holiday dinner. And sometimes they came to the house to help my husband with a project he was working on that he needed an extra pair of hands for. If they saw me in town they would always say hello. I knew them by name, and they knew me.

The day of Chris' funeral, they must have taken those couple of hours off work. They were there. To honor him. They were a good group of guys.

I remember the first time I saw one of them at the store after the funeral. I caught his eye, and smiled warmly. He continued on, no reaction. I saw another months later. I said hello. I don't know who he thought I was talking to. No reaction. I was very sad to find this was the norm now. It was like I didn't exist. If I am anything, I am stubborn. I have consistently attempted to get SOME sort of reaction EVERY time I have seen one of his firends. Just recently I was at the gym, one of them was there working out. I smile. Nothing. Well, it's the gym. We aren't passing on the street where he can ignore me once and be safe. I kept passing him. Every time I would look at him straight on and smile. nothing. Am I invisible?

I was out running an errand for work the other day and a man looked at me and said, "Hey, are you..." I looked at him, and recognized him as someone that worked with my husband. Not someone I knew - but he was familiar. I smiled. "Yes, I am surprised you recognized me." "You used to bring him lunch every day, we all would recognize you." We exchanged a few words and I continued on... just feeling glad that SOMEONE wasn't afraid to say hello. That someone remembered my husband with fondness, as I do.