Doors Shut; Doors Open

Reader Contribution by Mountain Woman
Published on May 16, 2011
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Several years ago,  I elected to share my life with my readers even if that meant delving into the painful parts.  My reasononing was that if I bared the darkest hours of my life as well joyous ones, I could perhaps help those who are struggling with grief, depression or through difficult days.  Because of the comments I received on my other posts, I have decided to share two more deeply personal experiences with you.  This particular essay is about the day my husband was killed.  

Doors Close; Doors Open

Sunday morning; it’s gray outside but it’s always gray in January.As I awaken, I notice the room is warm.Allan must be up. He’s turned on the heat.He knows I can’t stand to be cold.I can smell coffee brewing.My favorite flavor, Vanilla Nut.It’s not his favorite but he’s made it for me, to please me.He is always so good to me, my husband of almost thirty years.I go to the kitchen and he hands me my favorite mug.We sit down at the table with the Sunday paper and begin a ritual we have shared for many years.It’s an unspoken dance we both enjoy.

I look up from the headlines and see the snow begin to swirl.We have lived in South Carolina for many years and I haven’t seen snow in such a long time.It’s beautiful.

“I’m taking the dogs out.”

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