How Do I Get Through This?

“How am I going to get through this?” my friend asked, as quiet tears slid down her weary-eyed face. There was no easy answer for her question, so I just reached across the table and held her hand.

The odd thing was that she was the fourth person lately who asked that same question. My guess is that each of us has asked it before, probably more than once. Between the grief of a husband’s sudden death, the loss of a miscarriage, a terrifying health diagnosis, and unexpected marital separations, it seems I know a lot of people who are struggling. I have been thinking about how I survived when Neil died. Here’s some thoughts.

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When All You Want is to Give Up

Its was one of the worst winters we ever had. Snow was three feet deep on our hilly, gravel road. It was also a time when I worked in the emergency department at the local hospital. ERs don’t shut down no matter the weather, ever.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to get to work otherwise, the hospital sent the national guard to collect me for the night shift. The snow was too deep for the even Humvee to travel the ¾ mile from the main road, so the soldiers called ahead to say they would walk to my house and carry me back to the vehicle. Mortified, I left home long before they were scheduled to arrive. The snow was literally up to my hips and I made it less than half way before I met two guardsman.

“You were supposed to stay put so we could carry you,” one sweet young man admonished.

“There is no way anyone is going to carry me,” I retorted.

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On Being a Know-It-All


I am such a know-it-all;  we all are sometimes. And of course, we don’t know everything….

Neil and I were in Tuscany. The scenery was magnificent: narrow medieval streets, beautiful vistas visible from walled cities, history so alive I could feel the ancients walking the cobbled roads with us. Despite all this, the most remarkable part of the trip was my discovery of arugula.

We were seated at an outdoor café in the tiny village of Cortona (home to Betty Mayes and “Under the Tuscan Sun”). Before the waiter even took our order, he brought bread and salads. The bread was warm and fragrant, but the salad got all my attention. Simple sliced pears arranged on a bed of green leaves, and drizzled with good Italian olive oil, it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. But it wasn’t the perfect pears or the fine olive oil that impressed me, it was those peppery leaves. “Neil, taste this salad! The greens are amazing!”

He raised his eyebrows with a questioning look. “You mean the arugula?” Continue reading →