It’s been two weeks since my husband, Bryan, died. Diagnosis (grade 4 glioblastoma) to death was four and a half months. We had been married for almost eight years, together over 14. My step-daughter has kept asking rhetorically “what even is time?” Time is an accordion, sometimes stretching small moments for eternity and years gone by in a flash. The white-knuckle fear roller coaster seemed to last a long time, the cuddles on the couch, so very brief. I’m 45 years old and a widow. I’ve lost my best friend, my beloved, my teammate, my person. I am heartbroken and heart weary.
I’ve been trying to do at least one task a day and getting out of the house a little, but really, I’ve been on the couch wrapped in blankets watching Netflix and playing solitaire. Solitaire. Priceless. I watched with half attention Eat, Pray, Love today. Glutton for punishment I reckon. I’ve been eating cookies. My prayers consist of “please” and “help” and “it hurts” because I don’t have energy for much else. And love? Well that’s what grief is, love with no place to go. Few people in this world get the love of their life where most days feel like summer camp and everything is really fun from grocery shopping to chuckling over the Sunday letters-to-the-editor, holding hands on every walk, and loving completely. When Bryan was really sick, I tried so hard to develop routines and adapt with new ones as things changed. Now that it’s just me, I don’t know what that looks like. I lost my shit the other morning just frying an egg.
Part of me can live in a momentary delusion that he’s off on a skiing adventure and will come home later. The rest of me is so sad I can hardly stand it. Going to the grocery store and doing mundane tasks, watching people go about their business as though the world keeps on spinning is maddening.
I am grateful for the cats even if the human-to-cat ratio is currently out of whack. I’m thankful for friends, family, and neighbors who check in. I appreciate so much how connected we are and for the love and care of this community.
-b
Feryl Files 
I made no less then 15 sunshine’s smoothies today at work. I thought of you every time. When I made a double recipe, when I made singles. And I thought, “but they don’t even know that this is Becci and Brian’s smoothie.” It doesn’t make any sense that some folks are stopping in after a workout, and my friend would just like to share a smoothie with her husband. I don’t know if it makes a difference, thinking about someone, knowing they are hurting and that it matters. I hope so. Please know whenever I am blending that bright yellow smoothie I think about you. And how much Brian still matters.
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