I lost her. I lost him. It was months ago and it feels like this morning.
The first year
From Shane
Three months after Sara died I put our son in the truck and drove west, because standing still was worse. I am not telling you to drive anywhere. I am telling you the fog is not permanent, the paperwork is not a test of your love, and the people who say you are strong mean well and are not helping. Sleep when you can. Say her name out loud.
“The road, he hopes, can give them somewhere to put the grief.”— from the jacket
What helped at this mile
- Grief and widowhood, the plain-spoken version
- If it is too much tonight: call or text 988, any hour
- Write something about them on the memory wall
The book. This book was written from inside your first year. Read it when you can hold a book. Not before. On the Healing Road
The one next step
Send this mile to someone
"This is where I am" is the truest thing you can send. They land on this page.