There are times when I think/know that I am doing well. Great, in fact. I’m busy. I have a job, I have a show, I have my kids. I am doing just fine. I am absolutely fine on my own, certainly better than Mark thought I’d do. He told me once, “I always thought that if anything happened to me, you’d move in with your mother.” I gave him a look, and more than a few words. But I can’t judge him too harshly. At one point in our relationship, for years, I was that woman. The kind who’d completely fold and have to run home to mama. But that was a long, long time ago. As a friend said recently, “One moment in a long-term relationship.”
Most days, I am quite fine with being alone, and sure that I’ll never need another man in my life – and absolutely sure that I’ll never, ever marry again.
And then I sit down on the bed to put on my shoes, and glance up and see Mark’s wedding ring and his billfold on the dresser, and I think, “I’ll gonna end up marrying the first man with a sense of humor who smells like hard work and sawdust.”
That’s how you grieve Mark Daves.