The physiological responses to the death

I was surprised to find my mouth always dry. My brother explained: adrenalin. He provided a solution for my dry mouth: keep hard candy and gum on hand.

His explanation puzzled me - I felt shock, not fear. Then I touched the terror. The prospect of continuing without my husband seemed as unlikely as running without lungs or climbing without limbs.

At first, I could not remember to do simple things: sleep or eat. My sister told me to set an alarm for mealtime and to gently exercise - so my tired body would match my exhausted mind.

The grief counselors told me that grieving takes 65% of your mind, heart, energy and memory. I would have to do everything I normally did on 35%. No wonder I felt many cards short of a full deck - I was!

Dealing with the physical shock of his absence seemed as if I were withdrawing from a powerful drug. Whether we reading or watching TV, we held hands - or our feet touched. We slept, lulled by the reassuring sound of each others' breathing. We started most days together and generally ended our days the same way. We parted reluctantly each morning - he graciously left early, knowing I lacked the discipline to leave when I could talk to him a few more seconds. We greeted each other with smiles, hugs and kisses.

The longing to hug him and be hugged by him, to hear his laugh, to tell my best friend the news - overcame me several times each minute. Then each hour. Then each day.

Fortunately, my family and my friends supported me, steadied me as I put one foot in front of the other. They gave me books, frozen meals, hugs, and their time.

My loss felt so great, the echoing emptiness so limitless, the work of grieving so eternal, I did not want to come home at night. I did not want to face his empty chair, his empty truck, our empty bed.

I had work I had to do. I HAD to focus. So I formulated a simple plan: morning offering, yoga, water throughout the day, vitamins and zinc supplements to ward of viruses, salad for dinner, and a fuzzy act of contrition as my exhausted head hit the pillow.

I called on people when I needed help - and they seemed grateful to give me comfort and support. I bought a shiatsu massage chair cushion to entice me to go home at night.

I AM comforted by the belief that I will see him again. Somehow, God has answered my daily prayer:

I thank God for the good times that give us a taste of His love and the difficult times that draw us closer to Him. I ask that God's perfect will - for myself, my immediate family, my extended family, my friends and acquaintances and the whole world - be accomplished.

In time I may understand how He answered that prayer, but for now I can only trust that He would not give His child a stone or a snake.