cracking a cold beer

Sometimes the pain of suddenly losing my husband rears its ugly head and makes me feel like cracking a cold beer. Or maybe six.

Years ago, I always thought that if any kind of tragedy befell me I would just give myself permission to become an alcoholic for a while (not even really being a boozer, you understand). I assumed loss and grief would cause me to want to numb the pain – and what better tonic for that than alcohol, or so I thought.

In fact, what happened when Allen died, after suffering a heart attack and subsequent cardiac arrest, was the opposite. Sure, I tried to turn to alcohol; I sat out on our back deck during that first summer without him, consuming cold beverages, and trying to recreate the enjoyment we’d shared on sunny summer afternoons. But to no avail.

Nothing felt the same without my wonderful husband, truly nothing.

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