This is wrenching.

Reminds me so vividly of the time I stood staring out over the Hudson River, afraid to go home, open the door, and sit alone in the apartment that had been ours, but would always going forward be just mine, with ghosts of his memories scattered about.

After ten years, I was afraid I didn't know how to be alone anymore. I'm sorry to say I didn't go home right away. I stopped at a Chinese restaurant we both had loved, and I ordered a carafe of wine with orange chicken.

I barely touched the chicken, but I drank the wine and ordered more. I was very drunk before I finally twisted that door knob and stumbled into our bedroom. But at least I could pass out, oblivious to the ghosts and my unrelenting pain.

Recovery took a very, very long time.

I'm so glad his family were kind to me. I can't imagine how much worse things would have been if they'd been like the characters in your story.

Thanks very much for sharing it!