kvetching up

Manhattan, July 2022. It hit like a ton of bricks, really. The 25th wedding anniversary is the hardest thing I have faced yet. This is the hard time, the time a friend, worried about me, called to talk about just 3 weeks ago. I didn't see it coming. Now, like Stockton Rush when at the helm of the Titan III, I feel the weight of the ocean is pushing in from all sides, and I have stupidly bolted the hatch shut from the outside. Curled up into my snail-sized shell, I am holding on for all its worth.  I have been out to do things with Abby, as I am trying to swallow the dreaded thought that she will be in Massachusetts in just a few short weeks, and I will truly be alone in this house with Willow, surrounded by memory and regret. Gardening has offered some respite from dwelling on the gloomy prospect of loss. I am doing all I can to get used to the idea of being solo. How does one do it? The only time I have lived alone in my entire life I failed miserably. The only thing that saved...