12 years ago I lost my husband suddenly, in his sleep. We had been together for 9 years, married for 9 months. I was 33. My life, I believed, was exactly what I had always dreamed it would manifest into – a loving, intelligent, creative man at my side; a tranquil house; a job that I loved. I imaged the future set out before us for the next 50 years.
And in a heartbeat it changed. One minute his heart was beating. The next it stopped.
I lost everything that rainy April day. This is my journey to try and find myself again.
What started as a blog about losing my husband, as a way to write my story about it and move through the always present grief, has led me back to a place I love: writing. Sharing my stories. My story of him is a fairy-tale. But simmering underneath was the behemoth of my bipolar disease, and the chaos that ensued after his death, and continues to this day. With that I have found my writing to be an outlet for sharing the life of a person no longer content with the existence they live, and desperately looking for a change. I have been so fortunate to have found such a wonderful community since beginning this blog, and cannot thank all of you enough for your words of compassion and encouragement.