By Elaine Mansfield
I walked the trails on my land, stunned by the contrast between fields of blooming purple lupines and my numb despair. My husband Vic had died the week before. We knew death was coming, but how can anyone imagine it?
Here, breathing, struggling, loving one minute. Then gone, silenced, limp and gray. I was left with a longing for what couldn’t be.
I was in danger of sinking into despair. Darkness was so close. I didn’t belong in the world anymore, although I wasn’t suicidal. I just felt dead. I’d helped my husband, my lover, my partner, my best friend survive cancer for two years and helped him cross to the other side. He was gone. Where was I?
I spent that week walking, one foot in the world of death and one in life. Death felt closer. The only comfort was walking. Going nowhere.
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