During a sleepless period in the middle of the night, I woke to read my Kindle. I don't usually check my email during the dark hours, but I did for some reason. When I started reading your comment and your sad news about Hugh, I sat right up in bed and turned on the light. Please don't apologize for writing it and I certainly won't remove it. I treasure our connection and your words, as always.
I am so sorry for your loss of your sweet companion, Hugh. I can't imagine the terrible sense of absence. Just yesterday, I wondered that I hadn't heard from you in a while and told Regis that I was going to check the comments and see how long it had been. I loved reading how you and Hugh would laugh yourselves stupid over some goofy story I told. I liked to picture you at the end of the day, reading my blog together. That was yesterday...and then I get your sad news.
I'm going to savor your comments as I'm glad to have you affirm what I have learned as I've gotten older: There is joy and contentment in ordinary things once we learn how to look for it. Yesterday, after radiation, we bought ice cream, had lunch with my brother and his wife (I just ate the rest of my pastrami and pepperjack cheese sandwich for breakfast!), had a glass of wine on the patio with a good friend and some neighbors, cooked steaks with our son down the street, and enjoyed the end of a bird and sunshine filled day. No need for anything more.
How will you go on without Hugh, Karen? How do you get used to being lonely after having a marriage like you had? Is there any way to be prepared for this? Is there anything I can do to help?
Please keep in touch with me. I would gladly give you my phone number or address so we could communicate in a less public manner. Ours is one of those relationships that started on the internet but feels more like an old friendship now.
I'll be thinking about you in the dark and difficult days ahead. Let me know how you are doing. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.
Sending light and love in friendship, Teresa