Growing Pains

It's been 9 months since my last post. A simple date on the calendar, it's easy to mark the progression of time. I wish I could say "time heals all wounds" but as I write, today, I feel a little raw.

The past couple years have been marked by intense personal growth. While there have been a number of noteworthy highlights, grief and loss took center stage.

I had seven glorious months, basking in a whirlwind romance.

And then he was gone.

For a man who called multiple times a day, suddenly the calls stopped.

A week later, I learned he had been in the hospital.

The doctors discovered two bleeding brain tumors. Despite his aversion to drugs, he agreed to an aggressive treatment. While the tumors were shrinking, the tests were 'off'. A battery of tests revealed more cancer. For months, my life revolved around doctor visits and false optimism. He would never allow himself to admit he was dying. But I knew.

Yes, I knew he was dying. But when I got the call? I wasn't prepared to stop hoping. Death. It's non-negotiable. And suddenly...the battle was over.

It's been six months since he died. While the day-to-day grief has lapsed, a word or a gesture can trigger a memory, and send me into a pool of tears.

Nearly everything in my life has changed.

Things that used to matter, now seem hopelessly trivial.

I'm no longer interested in "killing time", but making the most of it.

And there is a profound sense of urgency swirling around me.

In times of both sadness and joy, I turn to the stove. I moved into a beautiful 1920's home--the kind that surely had servants in its day. And I cooked. Relentlessly. I cooked more food than we could ever eat. I cooked for the simple joy of being in the kitchen. And keeping busy. I was oddly detached when we tossed the leftovers. It wasn't about the food. It was about nourishing my soul.

Step by step, I've begun to ease back into the life I knew.

Before that delicious romance.

Before cancer.

Before my world fell apart.

Writing again. It feels good.