I had a health scare last week that slapped me, once again, into awareness that I’m alone. I no longer have a husband; I no longer am married. After 56 years, I no longer have someone at home who’s there for me the minute something goes wrong.
There have been many challenges as I’ve assumed this role of widowhood, but they’ve been doable. Mostly. I’ve not finished yet with collecting tax documents, and that’s stretching my sanity; I much prefer working with words than numbers.
This health scare, though, was not doable, alone. The doctor’s office called that I needed to have a repeat mammogram. In my 77 years, I’ve never had to have a repeat. You can imagine where my mind went—all the way from the repeat test itself to the grave.
I had to have an immediate talk with myself. I could not deal with wild thoughts alone…
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