The pain, the pain, the panic, the
frantic feeling my head would explode, the sudden loss of my other half, my
better half, my constant companion, my friend, my lover flipped my world upside
down.
Seventeen weeks later, I remember
the day vividly, but the days after, no, the first couple of months after are a
haze.
At some point I realized that
having a project I believe in to work on would be good for me. I had been
talking about doing a fund raiser for a friend of mine, who runs an animal
shelter, so I picked the easiest I could think of and we did a photo day fund
raiser for Amigos de Los Animales PR.
Working to concentrate on a task
that’s more stimulating than challenging gave me moments of peace in that
second month. I had to “buckle down” to put it together. Sometimes regardless
of how the project went, I’d have uncontrollable bouts of crying and screaming.
As a rule I’m a pretty buttoned
down hard ass, thanks to my WW II Marine Corp dad who beat me regularly until I
reached eighteen and he died leaving me really screwed up; until along came the
hero of my story, the guy who died this past July, my guy.
Life in Widowland still sucks.
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