Grief is a lonely process. Your days and nights are filled with memories. Sometimes guilt gets in the way. Sometimes you feel like “What’s the point?” You don’t like being alone and you don’t want to think about getting involved with anyone else either.

I am a widow—a relatively young widow. I’m a 53-year-old “boomer” who hadn’t given much thought to the possibility I would be widowed at my age. The fact that my husband was 17 years older than me didn’t phase me much because in a lot of ways he was in better shape than I am. He exercised regularly (I hate exercise, always have), ate more carefully than me and was proud of his physique.

Come September, it will be two years ago that he passed away. I wish I could say what the hardest part has been, but there have been many “hardest” parts.

My husband took care of financial stuff in our home. Not that I couldn’t, just that he was more organized, and we both preferred it that way. I made my contributions and he paid the bills for our home, our vacations, whatever. To be perfectly honest, I liked it that way.

He also took care of the management of our property—whether it be himself or hiring a contractor. I found myself at a great loss, but I had to learn the process or have my yard be a disgrace to this lovely neighborhood.

I still have major problems cooking for one, and I usually don’t. I make too much, but cooking is a comfort for me, so I don’t worry about it.

Having a “built in” date made social affairs easier to attend.

My job was a help at keeping me busy and preoccupied, but coming home to an empty house was difficult. Especially when I had something I wanted to share.

When my husband was first diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, we tried to be hopeful. It was diagnosed early. As it turned out, he died within six months.

We shared the same sense of humor, so believe me when I tell you I miss the times we watched TV or read a newspaper story we both found amusing or outlandish.

I have some wonderful friends, but they can’t fill that particular hole.

At this point, I realize that time does heal all wounds if you’ll only let it. It’s okay to cry and moan and even holler occasionally, but life is for the living and you must carry on.

I’ve even gotten to the point where I can have “disputes” with my husband. For instance, a few month’s ago I had some plumbing problems. Need I mention how totally inept I am in dealing with this sort of circumstance? Well, as I was wading around in all that water, I looked up and yelled, “Did you know about any of this? You did, didn’t you!” Well, I composed myself and then broke out laughing. Another milestone. Before, I would have just started crying shamelessly and wallowed in enormous self-pity.

Late last year, my parents came for an extended visit. I gave up my master bedroom for them because it provides all the creature comforts they enjoy. I wasn’t put out. I could easily move to another bedroom and the few things I didn’t have were really no big deal.

My mother and father, in an effort to show appreciation, went out and bought a whole new set of bedding material. As beautiful as it was, I burst out in tears. It changed the look of the room entirely, and I realized it came as a internal shock. They hadn’t meant any harm, and I recovered shortly thereafter. It’s all just part of the grief process.

Today, I would say that I’m just about back to normal. The missing goes on and the need to want to “hide out” pops up, but I consider it normal and don’t give in to it on a steady basis. Instead, I focus on the eighteen years my husband and I had and the incredibly wonderful travel experiences we shared.

His ashes are on top of my fireplace (most people have no idea what it is, if they ever notice in the first place). Some people probably think I have way too many pictures of him around and other reminders, but for now they stay.

Bottom line, life does go on, and if you take it one step at a time, reach out for the numerous resources available and take advantage of the kindness of humanity, you’ll live a happier, richer life. Get involved with projects such as the one I am developing over the Internet. Thank God for the Internet! It is crammed with all kinds of information and opportunities and has given me a brighter, encouraging outlook.

The same can happen for you, I promise.