It's a Tuesday night, about five and a half months, or a lifetime, since Jack died. The house is quiet and I am thinking. The reality is that life is not what it was that November evening when I walked to the car with my husband of 33 years, to drive him to the hospital after a week of sleeplessness and pain. The disorientation was…
I'm writing today with my nose in a gardenia. My aunt picked this lovely flower for me from a bush by her home, little knowing it's a ticket straight back to the hot August afternoon I became a Wilson. Burying my nose in it triggers picture after picture in my mind's eye. We had planned for this day for months. Researched options, wrote lists, juggled errands. Rewrote lists and pressed…
I didn't see the glass door. (But it was there. ) So when I walked straight into it, leading with my face, it felt about as you imagine it would. The good news is that nothing broke, though the bridge of my nose smarted like the dickens. Intially all I could do was stand there, hold my face, and wait. After a while, I gathered what was left of the…
Yesterday marked five months of learning to walk again. Babysteps, my friend calls them. I don't remember learning to walk when I was a kid, but I do remember watching my children learn. I held my breath as they reached out to the coffee table, hauled themselves up, stood, and bounced in place awhile before sitting down again. After a bit, a minute, a day, a week, it doesn't…