On the eve of his birthday

My fingers hover over the keyboard because they know my mind is a cauldron of mixed up words haphazardly collected as I walk through the fog that is this grief. In all those words I find one phrase….this sucks so bad. It has been 201 days since my husband killed himself. There are moments when…

Muhly Grass Blooms

This morning I almost didn’t make it out of bed again. Friday arrived while I slept and settled in with no particular mood.  It was simply here, sitting in the Friday chair.  I couldn’t find the anchors that were lost yesterday morning, so I had to make do with an improvised set that looked nothing…

From Yesterday

I’m out of bed.  So what? Big fucking deal.  I’m back inside of day one, morning one, except this time there is no funeral to plan, no details of a military burial to go over, nothing to distract my mind from whatever the fuck place this is where nothing makes sense.   Today I DoorDashed…


Sometimes I feel like this blog should be called “Becoming a bitch: Life in the aftermath of suicide”.  Or perhaps that term offends people, so I will change it to ‘Becoming an asshole after your husband kills himself”. This way people might know that becoming a widow isn’t just learning to fold this new title into…


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About Me

It is estimated that 22 veterans kill themselves every day.  My husband is one of those 22.

This is my journey.  It isn’t neat or tidy or even straight-forward.  I will ramble and curse and generally share how it feels to continue living in the aftermath of suicide. I’m not even sure what I will say or where I will start because the story is already in motion.  Finding a starting point is like figuring out the best time to jump on a train mid-derailment.  There’s no best place to start.  And capturing the anger, sorrow, and joy on this journey will be fucking messy.  Let’s face it, life is messy underneath all the pretense.  Tragedy lifts the veil so there’s no where to hide.

I am a widow and this is my journey.

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