There is much I need to tell him, so much I want to share. I talk out loud to photos and I know that he’s not there.

There is so much he needs to know, so much he’s missing here. I cannot help the darkness that arrives this time of year.

Memories of the pain he felt, the deep heartache he felt inside, and the sleepless nights and his drug-filled body are all flooding back to me.

I’m haunted by the visions of the things that he endured, things people could never imagine, that were only shared with me, those nights when he fell, crumbled in my arms.

November is now a reminder of what happened in the end, the tears were never-ending and the worry consumed us both, but he never complained about his life or that it soon would end.

November brings such darkness in these forefront memories.  It’s hard to shake the bitter cold that I feel in my bones.  I want to just be grateful, but he left me here alone.

He knew that this would happen, he often told me so.  He knew better than anyone and still he had to go.

I’m trying so hard to remember all the good he gave to me, to help me through these next two months of heartache agony.

The life of a widow no matter how blessed, is a never ending battle of learning how not to drown when the wave of grief engulfs you.