Your person. Or maybe it’s mine.

So, thanks to Grey’s Anatomy the term ‘my person’ has totally become a thing. And it wasn’t really something that I thought about or cared to think about until I found I really had one. She was my person. And I was hers. Even if husband doesn’t give any credence to the relationship, we are besties to the nth degree and she’s gone and I’m sad. I leave her messages on her phone still. Weird, right? And I upgraded my Voxer membership to Pro status so I could keep her messages, sent to me, longer. I have thoughts on this, lots of thoughts, that I’m not quite ready to put down on paper yet. Thoughts on how she died, where she was, that she died, that she was buried. But with putting thoughts on paper comes responsibility for those thoughts, and that’s the part I’m not sure I’m ready for yet. How do you paint a widow, or is it widower, to be the villain when they are clearly grieving, yet clearly the villain. Once it’s on paper, there is not going back. Not that we are using paper, but you know what I mean.

© 2020 by DENISE WELLS.