Photograph by the Author

What I’m Learning in This Process

I became a widow the morning of April 7, 2021 at 5:37 AM. Since two AM I watched and listened to my husband of nearly 45 years struggle with labored breathing. I knew he wasn’t in any pain — probably the only positive about end-stage renal disease. I called the nurse because I sensed his breathing changed from earlier. Sarah came and started another course of morphine to make it easier, but then she awakened me at 3 AM to tell me he was in his last stage of life.

I can’t imagine having gone through this without the help…


Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

This is not hyperbole….

What will I wake up to?

Are we as a country still in one piece, or has our patchwork unraveled even further?

Will transition hopefully go peacefully?

I don’t know and I can’t guess…all I am doing is replaying possible scenarios in my head, and none of them are positive. I know I’m not the only one awake in the early hours.

No answers, no complete returns. I’m ready for that. I’m sort of ready for all the posturing from both sides. I am not prepared to see armed men (and yes, some women while we still have some rights)…


An Unexpected Discovery

Photo by Author

I never understood the appeal of gardening. On your knees, in the dirt and grass. Pulling weeds, watering, trimming, and maybe growing flowers and/or veggies. Worst thing me for — dirt under my fingernails. That’s the same reason I never threw pots.

My Nana could make anything grow. Me….pothos and cactus in Arizona. Anything else was a waste of time and effort, and I felt guilty about the money spent on the plants and their subsequent demise. Plus, I’m of the gender-strict mother who considered gardening not something that “well-brought-up” girls did.

We returned to Vermont and…


The Enervating Path Through Grief

Photo by Sinitta Leunen on Unsplash

Yesterday the kitchen smelled. I forgot to clean the aluminum foil with the steak juice and store the small piece of left-over beef before I went to bed. Now I stood at the bedroom door, assaulted by odor and not even six feet from the galley-senior-living-kitchen.

It’s time. When it stinks — or is on the verge of being late — it’s time to handle whatever it is.

It’s just me, myself, and I living here now, no longer a hubby to help with chores — and to be honest, he took care of so many of those little things…


First Bus Trip in Several Decades, Selfie by the Author

(A Bit of Insanity, with a Quick Note from Bruce: Yippy Ki-yay…)

It started innocently enough. (Don’t they all?) I would take the city bus, a half-mike from my apartment complex, and just ride it around downtown Burlington to see where exactly it goes and where I can get on and off and explore.

Simple plan.

The weather is gorgeous now and I’m tired of being cooped up in the apartment, trying to do nothing but loose ends. It’s been seven weeks since my husband died. I need to take baby steps forward.

Getting out of the apartment isn’t as easy as I expected. I am so used to hubby doing the…


Photo by Ann on Unsplash

Self-Care After Death

It’s 7:30 Wednesday morning. I’m worried about the week ahead, forgetting, of course, that today’s only Wednesday. Grief screws with time in limitless ways; I keep thinking it’s Saturday.

I’m supposed to meet a neighbor at 10 AM to get vegetables to plant because it’s supposed to rain the next two days and I need to get started on the garden, so I’m not sure I can stay with Kathy on Thursday and Friday to enjoy the budding lilacs that we missed the last two years, but I still have to figure out groceries, which I can probably do on…


Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash

Especially in this political climate…

Agape has been my word for the past four years: practicing loving kindness and compassion. Over eight months into the first year, I thought I was doing pretty well. I was enjoying people, smiling more, giving compliments, feeling more relaxed, always saying thank you…I was riding high.

But — sometimes it’s the smallest of things that make you realize how far you have to go to achieve the true meaning of this word.

Robocalls.

That’s what triggered me that I wasn’t doing as well as I thought. I was trying to get off phone lists and invoke the “do not…

Linda Moran

Renaissance woman, teacher, fiber artist, lover of history and mathematics, and world citizen; defender of the truth. #twocrones

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store