Some days there is not a lot to write about. I breathe in and I breathe out. Perhaps there are some who care to know that. But honestly, I don't always want to write it. 
There are those who ask me to write - because they say I have a "gift" with words. That my words speak the volumes within their own hearts. If so, then I am honored. 

This walk of grief. Wow. I never thought when Rick was sick, and even when he would talk about dying, I never thought that so much would change. 
But it did. It has. And it continues to. 
Perhaps one day those changes will all work out to be a good thing. But for now - mostly they just hurt like HELL. 

I have read many articles written by those who, like me, are walking this way. Grief. It helps to read the words of others. To hear of their stories, their struggles. There is something about knowing that I am not alone. And often they are a step or two ahead of me, and are giving me signs of what I am going to be going thru emotionally and mentally. It helps. 
I am a member of a support group on Facebook that is just absolutely AWESOME. We are a community, a family, of grief walkers. 
We cry together. We can tell when the grief is getting just too heavy - and invariably one of us will crack a joke just to make someone laugh. And the giggles ensue. 
There are those who do not understand the giggles and tears. But we are finding out that it is just the way of grief. Never knowing when either will come, nor how long either will last.
​But knowing, as much as we know our loves are gone forever, that the tears will follow the giggles, and the giggles will follow the tears. 

Woke up this morning at 1 a.m., Thursday - 34 Thursdays since Rick died. The fear was upon me ... the panic was rising ... i took a deep breath. Reminded myself that the worst had already happened. He was gone. Forever. Not coming back. A few tears ... 
And then, for the first time in 34 Thursdays, I listened to music. And i just allowed myself to actually FEEL the songs. 

Thank you to the one who shared Adele with me. She is amazing. Her voice and her music is astounding. 
I am so thankful - and that seems like such a small word - for you stirring the music within me once again. 

I will always and forever love my husband. Ricky Lee McCoy. We gave each other 35 years. Good years. Some of those years were hard and lean. But all together they were good. If i knew then what i know now, I would have done it anyway. He was worth it, so worth every moment, every breath. 

I want to live this life as his widow, honoring him. Confident in the love that he had for me - even in the worst of times, he loved me. I see that now. 
Thank you to the one who helped me realize some things about my husband. There are times that you really can be so close to the forest that you can't see the trees. 

I also know that life goes on for me. Where will it take me? I don't know. Who will go with me on this way? I don't know that either. What lies around the bend for me? I have no idea. 
This is a journey ... and I promise to take it one day at time - nay, one breath at a time. I want to breathe deeply of the days and the nights - the highs and lows - the tears and the giggles. 

Life without you ... this song was shared to me this morning by a special friend in my life.
I don't know how to walk this walk of grief ... i don't know how to live without Rick. This is all new for me. And just like the rest of life - there is no manual. no instructions. no how-to make it thru with any semblance of sanity. 

But i thank God that i am not alone in this.
I have one in my life who walks with me, who talks with me, who shares the heart and soul of this life with me.
Thank you.
One who has been there for me in the middle of the day when the memories are overwhelming and takes my breath away. This one gets it. This one's breath is taken away by this walk, too. 
One who says a sweet good morning - because that is one of those times i feel the most alone. 
One who whispers a precious good night - because the loneliness is almost too much to bear those moments before closing my eyes. 
How precious is a friendship with one who gets this life.
I wish a thousand times over that we had never met - because that would mean that our loved ones had not left us. But a thousand times over i am thankful that if we must walk this way, at least we can be friends in it together. 

Music has always been a major force in my life. From the time i can barely remember as a kid growing up. A radio played. A record was turning. And when there was neither - Momma sang. God love that woman - she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket! But she sang - with her heart and soul. She sang.

And then, with Rick.
When words would not come for either of us - there was always a song. A song to be shared. A song to be remembered. 
How many times did he call me from work - even before cell phones - and tell me to listen to a certain song that was playing on the radio? 
How many times he called the radio station and requested a song be played for me - at a certain time.
How much money have we spent thru the years on 8-tracks (yes, i am that old), cassettes, CD's? 
Concerts that we have went to, somehow affording the time and the money. 
Nights when we would sit under the stars and he would softly sing - song after song after song. Until his voice literally gave out. And still leave me wanting more. 
Times when i could not sleep, troubled with life - and he would hold me in his arms, and just sing to me. Calming me and quieting me. Making me just to know that no matter what - everything would somehow be ok.

In all of the sickness and hard times that we endured those years, Music was the anchor for our hearts and souls. 
Hours upon hours we listened to the music. Music had a way of easing Rick's pain when the medications would not. And music touched that place deep within him and brought peace to him in the worst of times. 
The last few months of his life, the music was not fully shared. He had a set of earphones and he wore them, listening to the music. It was like he needed to be as close to the music as he could be. 

But ... for these last 33 weeks, i have listened to very little music.
It was just too much for me to bear.
My soul was in darkness.
My spirit was crushed.
I cry enough tears without the music. Or so i thought. 

I am slowly finding out that the tears i cried without the music were so completely different than the tears with the music.
The tears with the music actually feel like healing tears.
cleansing tears.
tears that hold more hope than despair.
tears that hold promise of tomorrow,
not just the emptiness of today. 

So, to this one who has shared the music with me - thank you.
You are helping me in ways that i have no words to explain ... but there will be a song that i will share with you one day. 
​Thank you. 

It's weird on this grief journey.
The different "stages" - you don't go in a straight line.
You don't move from 1 to 2 to 3 and so on.
Or at least I don't.
In all the years thru all the losses, I haven't made the trip along the "stages" the right way then either.
But now? Oh my. I am literally bouncing all over the place!
Stage 1, then 7, then 51, then 2, then 3, then 28, then ...
I wonder if this is what a pinball feels like in one of those old games?
Only I am not a steel ball - I am a fluffy and messy package of me.
And all I am trying to do is to breathe in and breathe out.
Trying to figure out who I am - without Rick.
Trying to figure out how I am going to get thru this without him.
I talk too much.
I laugh too loud.
I cry too often.
I am too brutally honest.
I write things that are most likely better left not in print.
I say things that I cannot take back.
I hear words from others that stir my soul, which they wish I had not heard (or at least not remembered).
I am me.
No excuses.
I. am. me.
I am surrounded by others - and yet I am indescribably alone and lonely.
I have been more numb than not for the last 33 weeks - perhaps even before that, when Rick was sick, especially this whole year.
But the woman inside of me is waking up.
And she hurts in a way that I never thought she would.
On every level.
And honestly? I don't know which is worse - to have the mind numbing pain (at least to be numb) or to now be actually FEELING what I feel.
The woman in me is waking up to find emptiness and loneliness, no one to share it with, no one to touch that lostness within me.
Always before when we walked in grief, Rick was with me.
And when the numbness would begin to wear off - he was there to hold me, to wipe my tears away, to listen to my anger, to just tell me that we would make it thru all this.
Just for the record, in case I haven't said it in a while ...
I HATE BEING A WIDOW!
I miss being a wife, a woman.
I miss being held. loved. cherished.
I miss reaching up and laying my hand on his face - just loving him and giving him me.
I want to hear that there is Hope and Promise.
But this is my life now ... and I refuse to give up.
Death will NOT have the victory in my life - not like this.
I will fight my way thru ... bumbling and stumbling ... crying until I laugh ... laughing until I cry.
This. is. me.
And this - is my fight song ...