Then on my 50th birthday, after a wonderful lunch with Rosie and Annie, we found out Lynn had stage IV breast cancer.  What followed was 24 months (almost to the day) of Lynn fighting for her life.  While most would think if this time as the worst—Lynn and I looked to every day as another day to love and be loved.  We’d continue to say how lucky we were, and we meant it.  We were covered in a cloak of love that made us feel invincible.  This love poured onto us by loved ones and complete strangers, only fortified the love we already had for each other.  We WERE lucky.

The long chapter of my book where I lost Lynn was not over with her death, it was just beginning.  When Lynn died, all of the letters fell off every page.  The book about the luckiest girl in the world became a journal filled with blank pages.  There was no beginning, no interesting story, just a blank.  I could not see a future and could not imagine living beyond my life with Lynn.  But wait, Sophie was here and needed a parent…I needed to put one foot in front of the other and somehow keep going—

I did.  But the person I was until November 1, 2016, was gone.  The person that kept living was not the same person that existed before Lynn died.  Now, this version of me, still exists.  When Lynn left, she took a large part of my heart, so I don’t love the same as when she was here.  You see, when she was here, I had a much larger heart because her heart was inside of mine.  When she left, she took my rose-colored glasses.  Without them, I could no longer see the good in everything and everyone.  My vision even failed and I could no longer see rainbows and unicorns flying around me at all times.  When Lynn left, she took my best friend, the love of all loves, my partner, my partner in crime, and the president of my fan club.  No one could ever really know me again.

This “new” person wrote platitudes about grief and wrote words to express feelings—perhaps to help someone going through similar experiences, but mostly to give grief an outlet.  This never-ending chapter eventually became the whole book—Lynn’s death was and is the defining event of my life.  Because of this, I must end this chapter.  I must end it, forget about the original book.  That lucky book was about my life with Lynn—I need to write a new book about my life now without Lynn.

I’m not very good at endings and I have no idea how to begin, I just know that I need to.  People ask me about travel and all the places I’ve been—they ask, “where are you going next?!”  Since Lynn died, I’ve looked for her in every place I’ve been without her.  I’ve brought her with me to everyplace I’ve been without her.  I’ve tried to find what I lost.  The next place I’m going is just another place where Lynn won’t be.  

My new book title, “Life after Love: In Search of Myself.”  Whatever that means, wherever it takes me, I need to end the chapter that won’t end on its own.  I need to put this “book” away and start a new one.

Sincere gratitude to each of you who took time to read this caring bridge. At times, it was an indescribable comfort.  So many of you have supported and loved me when I was depressed, angry, difficult and sad.  I thank you from the bottom of my heart and promise you that I will use your love and support to become the best version of myself possible.  

If Lynn were able to thank you, I know that she would.  She is still within the hearts of everyone who loved her.  

Today I am grateful for:

The courage to attempt to begin my life again;

My puppies; 

Sophie; and

Memories that can never be taken away.

Always remember Lynn.  Her light.  Her laughter.  The gift that she was in this world.