She looked down toward her feet at the end of her visit. “I’ve got one more question, doctor,” she said, hesitating. I turned toward her and waited for her, letting her ask on her own time. Clearly this was something difficult for her to ask.
“When will I get over the death of my husband? It’s been ten years, and I still wake up each morning thinking he’s there. I still come home wanting him to be there. Am I crazy?”
Her face showed the shame that was so clear in her words. I had been along with her during the death of her husband, and she handled that period with much grace and strength. Now the silence at home is deafening. People around her, on the other hand, are far too quick to tell her how to grieve. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Musings of a Distractible Mind*