My Wife Died Two Years Ago

My wife, Wendy Jackson Hall

I realize that I've been neglecting this blog lately. There's good reason for it. In September, I kind of turned a corner in my grief. I decided that I had fully explored the cave and now I was ready to leave it behind.

I took some bold actions coinciding with this decision. I started an exercise regimen that includes some yoga, weight lifting, and cardio exercise. I also started meditating on a regular basis and started career counseling.

Today, I'm happy to report, I'm much more at peace than I ever thought I would be again. There have been a few periods of sadness, but they come at irregular intervals, don't stay as long or take me as deep, and I have a whole toolbox for dealing with those times.

Also, to fully confront what's happened, I've started writing a memoir. I'm 12 thousand words into it and trying to get to 50 thousand by the end of the month.

I plan to change this blog, too. When my life was at its darkest, I put my faith in those widows who had come through it to find happiness again. I can't say I'm there yet, but I'm going there. I wake up now with hope.

That brings me to a discussion with a friend who, himself, seems to be in the throes of an existential dilemma. He asked me since I acutely understand that our destiny is to become exquisite worm food, what's the point? Why do you get up in the morning? I told him it was hope.

"Hope for what? For the end of war? That we'll someday get it all right?" No. I told him it was little things. I might hear a good joke that day, or see something amazing.

"I know I will die without having all the answers," I said to him, "but I hope I'll get some of the answers along the way."