Marking a year here

It was on September 26 last year that I posted my first entry here. I wasn't sure why I was writing, or if I'd even share the URL with anyone. But I felt compelled to express my pain and what passed for insights. And photos of Sandy.

This was the photo I included in my first post last year. It seemed appropriate
to share it again now. My hat's off to all of you who've been with me this year.

I'd just attended an editors conference, where I'd seen old friends who offered their comfort and support. But I'd also talked with people I didn't know. I startled the woman sitting next to me when she pulled out a book titled something like "How to do the impossible" and I told her that sounded like what I needed. "I'm trying to raise the dead," I said, eagerly. My phrasing was unfortunate; I'm sure she pictured zombies. I explained that Sandy had died and that I was desperate for her return; my neighbor's response was much more understanding then and her eyes resumed their normal size. Unfortunately, her book was about marketing, not at all the kind of impossible I cared about. But I went on to tell her stories about my experiences of widowhood, and she said, "You should be blogging."

Besides, I had this cache of hundreds and hundreds of photos of Sandy that I had to share with those who love her. I thought of the blog as performing two functions: providing an outlet for my angst and offering a picture-a-day calendar. I still sort of think of it that way, though my photo choices have become more strained as the selection dwindles. I try not to duplicate them, but I'm getting to the point that most of the photos I haven't used are just random shots of Sandy posing in the house.

After a year of posting, I don't write here as often. Lest you think it's a sign that I'm healing, I should let you know that it's actually because I know how redundant my entries would be if I posted every day. How many times can I write of wanting her to return, of begging her to come back to me? How many visitation dreams do I need to document publicly? (I had one this morning, the first in many many weeks.) How much can anyone stand to hear about my insecurities or even my gratitude? So I don't write as much, coming to the page when I have something at least moderately new to contribute and leaving it alone when I don't.

I'd thought I might end the blog after a year, put the final touch on this part of the journey, but my frustration at the dearth of resources for widows past the first anniversary has convinced me to see where this goes. It's been 14 months since Sandy died, two months past the point where most of the tales of widowhood end, and I'm still aching for her. Maybe someday it will help some other widow to know that. Or someone who's trying to support her.

The blog has helped me survive the past year, and I appreciate all of you who have been with me so far on this unwanted journey. Thank you for the support you've offered in the comments, and in private email, phone calls, and embraces. Let's see what the coming months bring, shall we?