Love is forever…One woman’s journey with grief

Tuesday night, late in the evening. I have finished everything I can think of to do, including reading my grief book, so I decide to start on the accompanying workbook. I skip over all the stuff that is repeated from the book, skip over the part about people to contact; that wasn’t my job (although I contacted his online friends that the family wouldn’t know about), and everyone who needs to know knows. I decide to fill out the factual information on the form you would ostensibly give to the person giving the service. I can do facts, right? Facts are easy, and it would be good to have a record of it. I fill in his name, his age, his birth date, his cause of death, and as I move the pen across the page to write in the “date of death” field, I stop. I move the nib of the pen back to the page and I stop again. And then I start weeping. I try again. I can’t do it. I know the date; I will never forget it. But I cannot write it down in black and white. I close the workbook and spend the next hour sobbing with his picture clutched to my heart while our songs play. No one’s dancing now.