Sep 8, 2018 · 1 min read
I Miss “Her”; the Woman That I Used to Be: A Widow’s Grief

I’ve written endlessly about the pain of losing my husband, two years ago — he was just 53 years old.
This evening, Friday night, as I sit alone I realize that I not only miss my husband, but I’m also missing the “me” that was the other half of “us.”
I miss the wife — that I was.
I miss the partner — that I was.
I miss the caretaker — that I was (exhausting as it was, nevertheless.)
I miss the lover — that I was.
I miss the planner — that I was.
I miss the life — that I had.
I miss the future life — that I thought we’d have.
I miss the me that I was, when we were us.
I miss “her.”
