Been a minute I suppose.

((shrug))

Strange days.

It used to be that Halloween through mid-January was my Season of Discontent. It encapsulates the anniversary of my first marriage, my first husband’s birthday, the standard end of year holidays, and the high holy cap of Jan 11-13 – the days it took him to die.

At this point, 12 years out, I spike on Nov 2 (our anniversary) and Jan 11-13 – for the rest of it I pass as a normal-ish person. The memories of the time before, and of John’s last year interspersed with so many other memories.

I went back tonight and read what I wrote last year during these days. It still sits about right, even though tonight I am thinking a lot about when John called to tell me his new heart had arrived and my mind first thinking he was playing a joke. I’m thinking about falling asleep under the couch table in the waiting room under a blanket my best friend gave me (that is on my bed right now). Still, it is about right.

Twelve years ago tonight I had heard his voice for the last time, but I didn’t quite know it yet.

Here is where this turns into a Choose Your Own Adventure Blog Post –

Route A: I talk about how my dad is preparing for cancer treatment, and he is old, and sick, and what I wish for him no clinician, or healer, or mystic, or madman can give him.

Route B: I talk about how a lot of my widowhood is non-standard, and still I wonder if I get to write on my own blog about my dead husband because (damn girl) it has been 12 years. If my widowhood was a baby it would have gotten a damn phone of it’s own for Christmas.

Route C: I look at the sparkling number of 150 posts, and feel proud of that, and move on to tomorrow to see what it has in store.

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