Daffodils are possibly my favorite flower.  I love how they bloom while everything else is still dormant – heralding spring, as they say.  I have some in my front yard right now…so bright and cheerful.

I don’t feel like they’re mocking me exactly.  They’re still somehow hopeful…a sign of new life.  The problem is that I don’t want a new life.  I want my old life.  I don’t want hope – I want Matt.  This isn’t to say that I don’t have hope – or at least faith that I will be hopeful at some point in the future; it’s just that I get hung up on just not wanting this to be real.  I KNOW it’s real – there really isn’t any denying that.  But that just hasn’t changed how I feel about it… or at least my feelings don’t stay changed.  

I’m reading a book – No Time to Say Goodbye – by Carla Fine.  Subtitle is “Surviving the Suicide of a Loved One,” and in the author’s case it was her husband.  I’m really liking the book so far, and read this paragraph today –  “The pain is something you have to experience.  There is such a lack of control and there’s nothing you can do about it.  There is no answer.  Crazy things happen in our world, but you can’t dwell on why they’re happening to you.  It’s just romanticizing your situation.  With hope, you come to terms with it.”  These are things that I keep telling myself.  Sometimes they help (which is to say, make me feel better for a bit).  

I…just…don’t know what to say.          

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I'm a young, childless widow who is trying to figure out the best way to deal with the world in light of my late husband's suicide. It's harder than I ever imagined it would be, but somehow at the same time I am still alive and even happy sometimes.

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