Author: Joy Hurt

“Things that you held high and told yourself are true,

Lost or changing as the days come down to you.” (Joni Mitchell, Court and Spark)

Life is interesting. If I’ve learned nothing else in 2020, it’s that we are given, each day, a new chance to live our best life. One can fret endlessly about getting everything just right. Like everyone, I do that. Often. The problem seems to be that “just right” for today might end up being “terribly wrong” for tomorrow. With all the planning and hand wringing that results, the moment NOW gets messed up. At least in 2020, my own brave new world.

Until widowhood leaves you totally alone, you can’t comprehend a wilderness vast and overflowing with painful beauty. One “Happy New Year” ago, my present reality was unforeseen. I couldn’t have imagined and written the last year on my best day. Through flames and devastation, my new life now is emerging like tempered steel, wonderful and rich with new friends in my new town. Some parts are missed, as I journey further away from my old life. New house, new routines, new everything, all chosen by me in this different world I’m creating. My old life died April 8th in a horrific and fiery crash. Little of the old survived physically, but everything survived in my heart, left in a heap to sort and ponder.

As I write every day, these hours are a time that I wallow through unopened file cabinets of memories, regrets, wishes, and what-ifs. I discard things no longer true in my life, and refold and keep those things so precious they have been woven into my heart for safe keeping. Through 32 years, it is often hard to separate what was him or me. The us that’s now me kept in cherished memories, I move on to write a new story, mine alone.

It’s a very weird thing to live alone for the first time after 64 years. The most wonderful things can happen when you live by yourself. Everything selected for one, making life easier, but rather lonely. A multitude of options present themselves for my choosing. As days have gone by, there are times when my heart races thinking of the expanse of the universe and my insignificance in it. Dark fright sends tendrils from deep places within, the terror being palpable. Overwhelmed, I breathe deeply and write from the point of view of one little old blogger woman sitting at her computer, while fear is soothed away, and my superwoman spirit again shines through. I will never know the impact of my words on a reader in Moldova or Hungary, or the importance to those sleepless in Seattle, reading me because the night is a scary place to find rest. But the fear-conquering impact they have on me is amazing.

Writing is a release of the real parts of me censored for way too long. If uncomfortable to read, don’t for the day. I’m writing as I heal my heart. I find that if something I write makes me cry, it’s very good medicine. By publishing it, I grow. My readers are listening to a healing heart that got banged up pretty badly this year. Rather like going to visit someone in the hospital that needs a friend while mending, you listen. For this, I can never thank you, my readers, enough.

Will I ever forget VST? Not in a million tomorrows. Not even when the sun sets on my life for the last time. For to forget him would be to lose memories and love spanning 50 years. Anyone who believes that could or should happen just doesn’t understand what we had, and what I lost. Nothing can change the fact that VST died. Away from the horrors of that experience I’m moving further every day, carefully redesigning the life I want for myself now. As for this moment in time, I’ve only myself to consider.

Am I ready to move into a new relationship? That is for my heart and head to agree on. I’m an intelligent, strong, and courageous woman capable of choosing a safe place in which to entrust my heart. No life instructions came to me on April 8th. For guidance, I have found faith in God to be my North Star. With a few pretty special angels up there watching over me, I’m in good counsel, with the ultimate earthly choices being mine alone.

As the new year begins, there’ll be less blogs focused on my loss, and more blogs focusing on discoveries and growth. 2021 is going to be a stellar year because the entire world is hoping, praying, and demanding it to be. We’ll all do our best to find our new normal, as this world keeps spinning and the days carry us on. I’m ready for new pages. VST and I had a wonderful run at life. The next part is mine to write. I’m so ready.

How could you? Oh, Noooo! You Shouldn’t! Not that! Are you crazy?

So many voices I’ve allowed to quiet words I’ve wanted to say over the years. Of my own doing and for a good many years, I gave up my writer’s voice in the name of privacy, decorum, or just to keep the peace. I’m so glad that voice is here and can be silenced no longer. Writing, in spite of judgments personified or of my own personal doing, is helping me heal.

From an early age, I knew, WRITING IS LIFE. In 2016, an astute 5th grader started a term paper with that line. She got an A. Writing IS certainly my life. Throughout my years, words have been there when there was no one else.

Six months of the saddest time in my life occurred in 1977, while living in Tiraspol, Moldavia on a honeymoon disaster. My first marriage involved a job in the USSR, his employ not mine. I went as the lucky Plus One at 21 years of age. I found myself alone, sans translator, 14-16 hours a day, in a place where language was a mystery. Even the alphabet betrayed me, being Cyrillic. Lacking daily conversations with another human being, no English television, no random billboards to read, no words, my mind starved during those months. Exiled and imprisoned, I devoured novels brought from home. Completing one book a day provided a silent stream of words. They painted vivid pictures while I found comfort in the strength from the text as mine waned.

During my marriage to VST, my interests turned to other things. Important things requiring time and patience. Raising Children. Farming through disastrous weather. Injuries. Teaching. Travels. Life just kept coming while I never carved out quiet time for writing. My own self care I neglected for years..

These days, I write throughout the day, every day. Topics and projects are an endless choice. The stories have been waiting patiently for their day to be told in the proper way. Russia. Marriage. Divorce. Children. Farming. Students. The hospital. Angels. The one that got away. The ones pushed away. These tales are lined up, waiting to come to life. And so, I write.

It started with an inspiration from a strange place. Vlad, an old, new friend, found routine in publishing daily, without fail, like clockwork. Publishing daily since 2015, this came first, while other aspects of life remained tattered and in disarray. Topic research, chosen words and a voice came alive daily, without fail. While life was literally flaming around his feet, with computer in hand publishing was priority, every day. So admirable. Just like that, I realized I had the discipline to share my words, as well. With that, September 24 delivered my first post. Through the days that followed, I’ve enjoyed experimenting with thoughts, memories, and writing. I dream of my first book in 2021, as Oliver lounges by my feet, and Winterpast holds us both, warm and secure.

Through months of widowhood, writing has encouraged me to bravely explore a space so dark and sad it had the potential to crush dreams and end hope. A true test of faith, it could have fanned a bitter soul. It could have blinded me from seeing the beauty surrounding me now. My words stopped that from happening. As they vented the truths I lived through, remembering some kinder than they were, fires burst on my computer screen, flared and went out. Like a fantastic controlled burn. Months later, words are healing me still. My super power is writing. For that, there is no kryptonite, except “a weak and a lazy mind”. I assure you, my mind is neither.

If you’ve ever, in your quietest thoughts, mused about writing, buy a journal today. Pencils and pens. And just begin. Writing IS life!

My musing for the day is focused on mindfulness and how it has changed my outlook on life. Retirement has its benefits. One of them is allowing the retiree the time to become mindful at an age when the beauty of it is recognized and appreciated. To be mindful, one needs to live in the moment and be aware. There is a time and place for everything. I was certainly not mindful while doing my banking today and projecting my thoughts to Tax Day 2021. But, throughout a normal day, a mindful nature can bring you a relaxed happy heart.

Yesterday was one of those days. I baked Almond Poppy Seed Muffins for the first time in years. I’m a carb addict. I’ll start on Keto again January 2, still many days away. So, yesterday, I baked. Oh My. For me, any kitchen activities are a true test of focusing on the moment. We all know the difficulties of cooking for one, so luckily, my culinary adventures these days are few and far between. “Take Out” or “Eat In” are such lovely options.

As the muffins cooked, I thought of Miss Firecracker, the perfect person with whom to share them. With a phone call and resounding, “YES”, I was off to her home. Miss Firecracker is a friend that feels like the best kind of warm hug. She is witty and delightful, sensitive and thoughtful. She is wise with opinions that are well thought out and shared carefully. She’s a favorite friend with whom to spend time. We talk about everything, from the boring to the racy. It matters not, because there we are sharing away. There’s always laughter involved.

Now, we share widowhood. Strange it was that Bailey’s and Cream and VST weren’t booming their voices on the back patio. Those two admired each other, always having conversations interesting and intense. Both brilliant men, they kept each other on their toes, intimidating each other as they went. But, now, just two chick-a-dees chatter away. We weren’t especially mindful as we visited, looking back to remember our guys, so glad to be with someone that remembered them too.

Later in the day, Webster Girl and I meandered through valleys and peaks of widowhood and our new lives via telephone. We collided one day, long ago and late in a distant century. We were both attending a Weight Watchers meeting. Both elementary teachers, her career was a raging success, mine was in its infancy. At the 6 Am meeting, my noisy school lanyard hung around my neck, heavy with school keys and shiny, metal whistle. Webster Girl caught my attention, and after the meeting, our friendship sparked. With a little wizardry on our parts, my next school year found me teaching with her at a school that grew to be my home, with teachers that grew into a strong sisterhood.

After many years of losing touch, she came back into my life the day after VST had died. A random invitation to a Zoom meeting appeared in my emails from my teaching sisters. Having no idea they were a lifeline to their drowning friend, they were having a Zoom meeting to get everyone together again. Just a random email on my first full day as a widow. Over ten years had passed since I had seen or heard from these buddies, but time stood still at that beautiful Zoom meeting. They were all there, just like we had always been around our lunch table. Webster Girl found me that day, newly lost in the wilderness, and I don’t plan to lose her ever again.

The rest of the day was mindful and lazy. I’m so lucky to have Oliver to fill in the spaces of my otherwise quiet life. He came to live with me two years ago, on the snowiest of Christmases in the parking lot of a casino. His birth family lived two hours west, so it was a good place to meet. I had no way of knowing this little dog would help with mindfulness. Anyone who has raised a very active puppy knows that to be anything less than mindful leads to accidents and damage of one kind or another. Now, he has grown into his big clunky feet and deep soulful eyes. Oliver knows EVERYTHING. He lived through it all. Glad he has no thumbs, or he might start typing his story.

Why would I write about the past in a blog about mindfulness, you might wonder. Because through those chance meetings in random places, I came to be. Mindfulness brings me to the present, with a grateful heart for all the goodness in my life. A collection of beautiful events along the way, be they exhilarating, devastating, or somewhere in between. The beauty is found sitting quietly and smiling at how they helped me choose my path. Mindfulness in the darkest hours of night is the best for me. Without visual stimulation, my mind is free to count every blessing and be grateful for all the people I have in my life. From friends, to family, to experiences that continue to be so rich. I am the luckiest woman. Mindfulness will give you focus through your journey, wherever you roam.

by Placide Cappeau in 1843, translated by John Sullivan Dwight in 1847

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining

It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

‘Til He appears and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices!

O night devine, O night when Christ was born

O night, O Holy night, O night divine!

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming

With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand

So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming

Here come the Wise Men from Orient land

The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger

In all our trials born to be our friend

He knows our needs, to our weakness is no stranger

Behold your King; before Him lowly bend

Behold your King; before Him lowly bend

Truly He taught us to love one another;

His law is love and His Gospel is Peace

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother

And in His name, all oppression shall cease

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we

Let all within us Praise His Holy name

Christ is the Lord; O praise His name forever!

His power and glory evermore proclaim

His power and glory evermore proclaim.

Merry Christmas Everyone!! I will be back tomorrow!!!! Have a wonderful day!!!

Joy

By Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on

Our troubles will be out of sight.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yule-tide gay

From now on

Our troubles will be miles away.

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all we be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Joy

‘Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through the home,

With a sprained ankle, I sure couldn’t roam.

One stocking was hung by the chimney with care,

Sewn by me, when two small boys were still there.

Oliver was nestled all safe in his crate,

Dreaming of how doggie treats would taste great.

Old movie and me, my ankle raised high,

Had just settled in for needed sleep in the night.

When my cell phone did light and ding with chatter,

From my Bestie, CC, “Now what was the matter?”

I told her through words I would be okay,

She promised to check in the very next day.

With the Christmas Star shining, what could make me so blue?

If you’ve been reading, I don’t need to bore you.

Again, movie my focus, pain in the foot,

The cell phone complained. Now where was it put?

Daughter was checking in, so far away.

She knows how to read me and just what to say.

“Things will be brighter, just remember the good.

Sleep well, and the ankle will heal as it should.”

Hope, Faith and Trust, I depend on tonight.

Santa is great, but these three do delight

A soul that is weary, battered, and blue.

I hope for tomorrow, and have Faith anew.

When the phone complained again, just once more for good measure.

A new friend checked in, one that I treasure.

Company tomorrow? Dinner brought for Miss Lazy?

“Can you check tomorrow?”

Wait……..

What???????

Am I crazy?

This AM after sleeping, I’m not so grumpy

Not feeling so blue and down in the dumpy.

Today will be one last to get Christmas right.

With Hope, Faith and Love, my spirits take flight.

Down with sadness, self pity, and blues,

Up with Carols, good food, and friendships true.

Up CC, Up Miss Firecracker, both of you know,

When troubled about life, to you I go.

Up Daughter, TJ, and Cambria Goddess, too,

What would I do without my Christmas angels, You????

Smiling, I’ll enjoy our dinner tonight,

Christmas Eve and Day will be just right.

So Dash Away, Dash Away, Dash Away all,

Off to the grocery store, down to the mall.

Finish the wrapping with ribbons and bows,

With love for each other, happiness grows.

I send you this, My Christmas wish true,

Merry Christmas, Dear Friends, with love to you.

*Thank you for reading and helping me through my first Christmas as a widow. Your steady love, friendship, and prayers are helping me grow stronger every day. Merry Christmas!

The simplest of errors can cause one to have a restless night with a very swollen ankle. My advice for the day. Don’t trip on the dog bed. Here is the entire story, with all the details included for prying minds.

After having breakfast and a lovely morning, I was planning to get dressed and have one more run at Christmas shopping and food gathering for the next few days. Simple as that. With the purchase of the new couch, I’d moved everything around in my living room, but hadn’t bookmarked their new places in my memory banks. The dog bed was in a high traffic area, and I made note of this, but hadn’t moved it.

Into this mix, add the fact that I have Size 11 feet that are always getting jumbled up and waiting to trip me. Even on my best days, I’ve always been a clumsy mess. With VST at my side, he more than once saved me from terrible falls. I’m in awe of anyone that can actually do a sport, as that is way out of my ability. Let’s have a writing contest, and I’m in. But, a game of anything that involves movement of the body involves injury for me. It’s a given.

So, yesterday, I tripped on the dog bed and came down in a very unflattering fashion heaped on the floor on top of my poor ankle. It made terrible noises as this happened. Then, there was silence and pain. Immediate. Oliver enjoys private time in his crate after we write. He’s still a puppy and into things he shouldn’t be. So, he enjoys Puppy Time Out while I fix my breakfast and get ready for the day. Slowly, I inched my way to his crate, in which he was rather frantic at seeing Mom-Oh on the ground. Together, we thought about the situation for a bit, while assessing the damage.

No blood. Good. No protruding bones. Good. Foot in same snake-like shape. Good. Pain. Not good. If foot moved…more pain. Really not good.

After minutes of thinking of a plan, I contacted Daughter, who said I should wrap the ankle to prevent more swelling. I took Advil– maximum dose. Immediately started ice and elevation, (continued throughout the day and night). Miss Firecracker flew into action and ran to the drugstore, delivering an Ace Bandage, the cutest Santa, a box of cookies, and a Get Well card. The best friend in need, is a friend in deed.

For the rest of the week, I’ll be watching old movies with this swollen ankle elevated and on ice. I’m able to hobble around to take care of the necessities. Oliver is watching over me and had a talk with me last night about the placement of the dog bed and retention of such information. He also gave me lots of kisses and is making sure I’m not too lonely. He assures me that if I had to have a Super Power, he prefers writing.

I hope everyone remains upright. Don’t trip over anything. In this Christmas season, things are often moved from their usual places. Keep an eye out for trip-able objects. Have fun planning for the next two days. Stay warm and happy. Love to you all.

Thank goodness the winter solstice is upon us. Today, there will be the fewest hours of daylight in 2020. With the year as it has unfolded, I’ll gladly turn in a few minutes earlier tonight to enjoy this, the shortest day of this annus horribilis. According to The Old Farmer’s Almanac, if you go outside at noon today and observe your shadow, you’ll l see that it’s the longest one you’ll cast all year. This year has cast shadows on all our lives in one way or another. A collective sigh of relief and prayers of hope from the world will be heard at midnight on New Year’s Eve 2020, because 2021 must be better than the year we are finishing.

As a gardener, I’ll be delighted that the daylight hours will slowly be lengthening now, as we move towards the Vernal equinox on March 20, 2021, in which day and night will be of equal length. I’m looking forward to the lengthening of days in which to split and transplant my thriving Irises. Peonies, resting their eyes right now, will break through the soil in the spring. My aged roses all need proper pruning as they sleep, for the best chance at gorgeous blooms next summer. Gardening provides respite from day to day worry-demons. It has given me hours to reflect on my life as it is and the direction in which I intend to go. Today, there are 90 days to organize our sheds, sharpen our tools, condition our soils, and order new seeds and bulbs for winter planting before spring arrives. I plan to use each one to the fullest.

With Christmas Eve on Thursday, my week will be carefully choreographed to avoid emotional pitfalls. This holiday season has been a tough one in many ways. The cruel chains of Covid Quarantine have been restrictive, keeping us from visiting family and friends. So, this week, I’m making a conscious and deliberate choice as to what the days will look like. I’ll be careful to add in nourishing meals and plenty of rest, while also adding time for fun.

I’ve been enjoying daily mail call, as I’m hearing from family and friends from near and far. I’ve forgotten how wonderful it is to receive Christmas cards and the beautiful wishes inside. They’ve been more meaningful this year than ever before. Everyone in my life has gone out of their way to shower me with their prayers and best wishes. What a blessing that has been, during this the year of the unthinkable.

As I plan my week, I’m going to be very honest about my wishes. I need extra quiet time for reflection. As I find myself on the path of healing, I’ll listen carefully to those that mention how happy I look, because that is the truth of the matter. Through personal growth this year, I’m discovering happiness deep from within as I trust my faith. My grieving process may be different from others. That’s okay. There is no handbook for how one gets through this wilderness. We all need to find the unique way that works best for us as individuals. That’s helped by respect from friends and family as we make our way, sometimes in rather clumsy fashion.

Enjoy the first day of winter and this Christmas week with its magic and wonder! If you are struggling, start to list all the things you are grateful for this year. Even in a year as bad as 2020, we are all blessed. We only need to start listing the ways.

I write my blogs at 5 am. I. Am. A. Morning. Person. My best work is before 6 am. Stellar ideas come to me at 3 am, sometimes nudging me to write them down in my ongoing and very private journal. I’ve always been a morning person. Perhaps that stemmed from the childhood joy of running out into the morning stillness on the farm to find newborn lambs sheltered by a protective ewe. Or, to grab a morning hug from a farmer dad that left the house very, very early. The need to irrigate 40 acres of thirsty vines before teaching school all day. The front row beauty of amazing sunrises on the Virginia City deck with our 100 mile view. First in line to say “Good Morning” to VST. For all those and a million reasons more, I’m up way before dawn.

On this early morning, some thoughts stirred in my awakening brain. Things important and vital for my ultimate happiness. Being this morning creature, I miss a morning creature that stirs the way I do. Coffee. Breakfast. Morning Channel 2 News. Planning for the day. I’ll never be a night owl. I struggle being an evening crow. Morning person all the way. I miss eye-gooped, bad-breathed, dream reviews with VST. I miss our routine. He was always the first to say, “Good Mornin, Darlin” in his sexy VST voice, chipper and happy. Every morning. Quick to start the pellet stove on frozen VC mornings without a complaint. That man never woke up with pickle face or wrong-side-of-the-bed-grumpies. If I did, he patiently waited for me to wake up. Ready to plan the day, he would often remind me , “We’ll have enough time to sleep when we’re dead”. I miss my morning guy.

This week, I got through the first birthday in 33 years in which there wasn’t a card written out to Mrs. H staring me in the face when I first woke. For as much as I hate birthdays, we had that one heartfelt tradition that died with him. I won’t ever celebrate my birthday again, even in that small way. The absence of that silliest act set the tone of loneliness for the remainder of my wakeful hours. Goodbye to acknowledging such a pointless day in my life, too many years ago to matter to me anymore. Celebrating Christmas is enough for me.

Next, a tomorrow full of dreams need to fill my future. Not anything extravagant. Travels through sunrise beauty in dust-shrouded places like Mina and Luning. Sneeze-and-you-miss-it-places like Buford, Wyoming, population 1. Plans to stand in the awe inspiring presence of Mount Rushmore, or again watch the lifted tails of angry bison. I’m starving for simple travels over hundreds of miles of conversation and wide open spaces. I promise myself I won’t die yearning for this. Oliver may need to practice his duties as Service Dog Wingman, but, one way or another, I will be traveling again.

I thrive on spontaneity. The hardest thing in the world is waiting to do something. Anything. Winterpast is a wonderful resting spot that is my beloved home. Now, I need to find a new rhythm of here and gone. VST and I had that. Always a trip planned. Miles on the road, the journey being the reason. There is romance supreme in heading out while looking over the horizon in the same direction. Sharing different visions, a mural of ideas is created. Projects we wanted to complete or destinations for future trips discussed. VST was my perfect travel partner. My heart longs for that again. Like trying to read a map and drive at the same time, traveling solo through life is so damn hard. Dangerous, too. One wrong turn and you can be upside down in a ditch.

This morning’s epiphanies made my heart smile. Like feeling something painful in your shoe, and discovering the tiniest fox tail embedded in your sock . You knew something hurt, until you found the simplest answer. Such obvious stressful points I can’t overlook.

1. I will never be a night owl. Not even an evening crow. Morning person all the way.

2. Hold those birthday candles.

3. Need to get on with it and plan my first adventure for 2021.

Those are my AHA’s. What are yours? Start with the small ones, the bigger ones will reveal themselves along the way.

Holidays are so complicated. From the tangle of lights and boxes of Christmas decorations, to the more intricate parts of family life. Nuclear or extended. Biological or chosen. Lives are so busy, especially when little ones are involved. Work and normal life are now complicated by added bills and activities that extend normal day activities. Concerns about Covid and maintaining traditions loom over us all.

My house has been decorated since Thanksgiving. Being in a new place, it was necessary to again find new places for my favorite decorations. Some didn’t make the cut for one reason or another. Finally, I just couldn’t handle another emotional box of memories and decided the house looks just fine. Red and green pops of color cheerfully add a bit of zing to WINTERPAST (the name of my house), rather like blooms in the dead of winter.

Television commercials blast blended families of different ages and colors, all smiling and showing a Hollywood mix of smiles and laughter. Perfect people. Perfect food. Perfect dogs. Perfect packages. Perfectly romantic. I don’t know about you, but my first year as a widow is anything but. I have no great expectations that Santa is going to slide down my fake chimney and put the zing into Christmas morning. It’ll be just like any other morning around here. Oliver and I having our boring breakfasts, blogging, and deciding what to do with ourselves until nap time. Great expectations I have none.

What I do expect is to embrace peace these days before the 25th. Quiet reflection on the real reason this is such a special time of year. A time that many different religious groups choose to have their holiest of holidays, cherishing family and friends as they celebrate. I expect the scale will climb a few pounds, which I will deal with after the fact. I expect that the sadness in the pit of my stomach will be a little more pronounced for the next few days. I expect to be sad a little more than normal, the loss of VST stinging every time I see a Christmas decoration he gave me so long ago, or hear one of our favorite carols.

Great expectations will be on hold as far as gifts go. I plan to get Oliver a new bone, but please don’t tell him. He is expecting an entire bag of dog treats. Can’t do. He’s on a strict diet.

As for me, at the time of my choosing, I will open the gifts under the tree that represent my Widow Words. When VST died, I decided that each month would be represented by a word signifying our relationship. When I was unable to go on, I would focus on those words, rather like a Lamaze focal point used in natural childbirth. If it helped me birth a 10.5 lb. baby without drugs, it could sure help me get through the pain of losing VST. Just like that, they worked. At the end of each month, I purchased a Christmas gift representing the words, and wrote a letter to myself to go along with the gift. These are now under my tree. This was perhaps one of the nicest things I have ever done for myself. So, at a very quiet time when Ollie and I are ready, I will open the presents and letters, and have a very long, private cry.

My great expectation for this Christmas is that many painful memories can finally be put to rest, like melting snow after a storm. New traditions can be put in place, so that next year, when I open the boxes of decorations, sad memories of my first Christmas as a widow will be tempered with memories starring me as the Goddess of Christmas Now. I refuse to revisit Grieving-New-Widowhood, when I’ve worked so hard to heal from that point in my life. I have no great expectations. Just a wish for a quiet and lovely holiday season in which I continue to get stronger every day.