tk74

Something I wrote last year, expressing my new disdain of autumn, which ironically was once my favorite season... The first brisk winds of Autumn Yield a jealous breeze of frost For a flawless leaf now fallen And her grieving tree so lost A season of birth, Fall covets For its rival is the Spring So boasts a splendor of red & gold Yet death is all it brings The demand of twilights burden Now a blight upon this tree Once full of life and budding fruit …reduced to withering So all that glitters is not gold And the weary find no rest Just faded, vintage amber light Masquerading as my guest I see your face in the setting sun As the light so dimly fades To a purple glow and star-filled sky Where the harvest moon is made Now the breeze that started off, returned For the gales have had their way And left your ghost in all I see In this season of decay. _______ -The Fallen Leaf of Autumn T. Kent / 10-07-17

❤

It's been close to a year since I've posted. It too, has been one year and nine months since my wife died. I usually say passed or passed away, but you guys understand the ugly truth of died. For me, this place has the atmosphere of a dim lit basement morgue, it always depresses me. Yet i know, you're the only ones who understand me. I so resent this grief becoming a part of my identity, me becoming a mere shadow and now nothing more than a recluse in my own home at the age of 42. At least the first year is over.

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"All My Life", from ELO's new album, Alone In The Universe

I appreciate your very kind words. So, I've found a 'GriefShare' group to attend. It starts tomorrow night. I'm not the 'group' type of person (INFP), so it's a really big deal for me. It's about twenty-five miles from home, about twelve to twenty people attending (hopefully a good age range). I just need to try something different, it has to be worth a shot.

Thanks for all the encouraging words. Gracelet, I'm so very sorry for your struggle, your daily battle; I know it's hard. As for my father in law, I didn't know him for many, many years; but the time we shared, I knew him as family. He was caring, affectionate and heartfelt. He was quick to make me feel part of his family and always treated me as a friend and a son. In the last year he was someone I could lean on and depend on. We grieved together, cried together and tried our best to encourage one another as we dared to walk through this difficult season without ?our girl?. And just like that, the reset button to my broken and fragile soul had been hit, starting the entire grieving process over. ?Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.? - C.S. Lewis Maybe it's the normal ebb and flow of the newly bereaved, or a basic internal 'grief' clock we're all equipped with, but I awake every morning knowing the exact number of days (and weeks) since she passed. Until recently, I've never been so aware of the difference between time and seasons of time. Time moves on, seasons meddle. Time continues at it's usual pace and days quickly move forward; yet this season of grieving lingers. It simply spins round and round in a vast vortex of whirling emotions. Hovering, waiting, then returning without warning. Today, it's been 294 days - exactly eight months and twenty-one days. With even her 'absence' always on the forefront of my mind, how much more would my memories of her presence invade my soul and bring both joy and sorrow? I guess the ultimate goal and prayer is that sorrow and grief eventually turn to joy and gratitude. I'm slowly finding that grief, while remaining true to itself, is changing over time. I no longer question God or come home from work each day and weep. The tears are now occasionally triggered by certain songs or memories, even a voicemail I saved just to hear her sweet voice from time to time. Eventually focus will shift to the season ahead, regardless of the reluctant abandon of the current one and the still, small voice of God will once again direct my path. Before being faced with such a tragedy, there are a million little things you have no way of knowing or how to be prepared for. The first few months I dreaded nightfall, because I knew what was waiting. Losing a spouse is never more real than when you're lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, and knowing you'll never hold them again. And this realization is yours to repeat, every... single... night. We didn't have the luxury of being together ten or twenty years or enjoy a harvest of having children 'together', as she was too sick even from the beginning of our relationship. We both knew the likelihood of growing old together was slim, but we thought we at least had another ten years together; at least that's what I held on to. If the amount you grieve is based on the amount you loved, then I'm in for quite a ride. I can only surmise whether it's five years or fifty years, time is not the true measure of love or loss, nor is it the summit of what was gained. Time is relative, temporary and fleeting at best. For Chanty and I, longevity was, by nature, overrated and presumptuous. Rather, give me five short years of unbridled joy with someone who redefines the term best friend, passion with one who unequivocally embodies the word soulmate and the kind of love that would make you relive every single day of it. In the end, that's all we really needed and all our story could possibly tell.

This is currently a song I listen to over and over... and over. All That I Have Sown - Bebo Norman I believe when they put her in the ground I think they buried part of me Because I've been searching, I've been looking all around But I cannot find the heart of me, the heart of me So I'll put my fingers in this soil upon her grave And I will plant for her a garden And every flower, a reminder of her face Will grow up graceful as a pardon And all that grows is her story told As life unfolds here before us The peace I've found in this broken ground I can see her in the harvest...of all that I have sown Long before I was covered up in gray Before the old had bent my bones We grew our children in the red Georgia clay They were our garden and our home And all that grows is our story told As life unfolds here before The peace we found in that broken ground I can see them in the harvest...of all that I have sown And when my life is done I pray the kingdom come And take me to Glory It's living inside me It was planted like a seed All to tell a story I believe when they put me in the ground There will remain a part of me Because I've been searching and the joy that I have found Is living in my family...it's all that I have sown

My first post in the '6 to 12 Months' forum. Seven months, one day to be exact. It's been a few months since I've been on here. My stepdaughter and I moved last month to a new house. I guess I don't have to tell you guys how hard it was living there or how hard it was leaving there. Nonetheless it needed to happen. We love our new house and neighborhood. Bella's boyfriend is just two blocks down the street. They started 'dating' a week before her mother passed. My wife, Chanty, adored the kid. So it's really helped Bella through these difficult times. She's 16 btw. I've been very optimistic about our new season. Staying busy around the new house, there's always something to do or buy. Walking in the evenings still and dropped 30lbs. Things were progressing nicely. Then the unthinkable happens. This passed Monday, my father-in-law, in his grief committed suicide. He was bi-polar and been in such a dark place since Chanty's death. Such a sweet guy, we had grown very close. I'm sure you can imagine how hard this week has been. As if the floodgates had been opened. I'm an emotional disaster all over again. If you pray, keep us in your prayers.

Having one of those horrible nights, all this evening (out of nowhere). Been doing so well the last week or so. Just waves of sadness, grief and tears. I just want to see her.

Yes! It definitely was a collaborative effort with us at the Widdas Gone Wild Bago. We adopted the gesture as our "gang" symbol. I took it a step further and asked my good friend, Judah, at judahcreative.com to digitize our sign into a logo. He took our idea and came up with the heart with the crossed fingers to add to it. I loved it! Threw some cash at him and received the logo as my own. I am glad everyone likes it! And no, it is not a play on the word Wicca, To me, the heart represents the love we have for our widda family...the struggles that we help carry each other through...the many hugs given at bagos... Over all, the logo represents the bond that we have in our club that no one wants to be in. Thanks for calling attention to the logo! I am really glad that everyone likes it! Lewis Got to give props to your friend, Judah, very talented guy. I checked out his site and he has some amazing artwork and designs. I'm in the same line of work, but he makes it look easy. Still, I have no clue what a bago is?

Another 'four month-er'. I'm at four months and thirteen days (November 3rd). I'm not exactly sure when I stopped crying 'every' day. The first couple of weeks all I did was cry. Before this happened, I couldn't tell you the last time I cried. It had definitely been a while. The next few weeks the tears were on and off, though the pain was immeasurable. I went back to work, but the shock of it all left me mostly numb, depressed and sick to my stomach. My fifteen year old step-daughter decided she wanted to live with me and that blessed me beyond measure. Her sixteenth birthday was a week before Christmas. I tried to be strong. I made it through Christmas, though it was a blur, battling my thought process and just trying to wrap my head around it. I suppose, subconsciously, my brain simply processed the trauma by thinking she was just in the hospital yet again and I would see her soon. While it lasted I even appreciated the false hope, if for no other reason, to delay the inevitable. January and February (so far) have been, without a doubt, the hardest. I cried every single day. The reality, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the regrets, the empty bed, the social anxiety and awkwardness. The list goes on and on. Only you guys know how hard it is. So as of March, I still cry from time to time, but not everyday. I just hurt. I'm becoming bitter and resentful, though I'm trying to be conscious of it. I pray and try to keep the faith, but just can't handle everyone from church right now. I'm eating healthy, exercising and dropped seventeen pounds. If this were a quarterly progress report, I guess I'm just barely passing. The hardest part now is not being able to shake the feeling of wanting to go home, if that makes sense. She was my home and without her I feel so lost and vulnerable. Hope has to be on the horizon.

Very nice logo. Just found the actual logo on this company's website, under 'Logo Design'... http://www.judahcreative.com/portfolio/ So, being new to all of this, apparently I'm not familiar with all the lingo. Is "Widda" an acronym or is it just slang or ebonics for 'Widow'?

A few photo's of my girl. Some early pics from our high school days and a bit more recent. <3