A lead pony is the seasoned horse who escorts a anxious racehorse to the gate, exerting a calming presence. I’m widowed. Where’s my lead pony? Read more.
Widowed
Jon died unexpectedly at the age of 79. I thought we'd have many more years together. We won't.
Widowed: Yes, It Does Get Easier, Sad to Say
Does life ever get easier for the widowed? Yes, it does, sad to say. For some, the fading of that intense grief feels like yet another loss. Read more.
I’m a Widow. Was This Guy Asking Me for a Date?
It was just a friendly chat with a stranger out walking his dog. But then I thought, “I’m a widow. Was this guy asking me for a date?” Read more.
The Question of Flowers: Are They — Are We — Works of Art?
Flowers, by their very nature, never seem troubled to me, or even ruffled. Area they — are we — works of art? Read more.
Widowed: The Superman at My House
The Superman we spotted on Hollywood Boulevard was gorgeous. But Jon, my husband, was the man for me. He was the Superman at my house. Read more.
I Said Hello to My Deceased Husband — Finally
I said hello to my deceased husband’s photo the other day — and for once I did not collapse into tears at the sight of his face. Read more.
Widowed: Shouldn’t I Be Over It by Now?
After more than two years of being widowed, shouldn’t I be over it by now? I’m not. The universe has tilted and it has yet to right itself. Read more.