We were together for twenty years; twenty years where we were seldom
more than ten feet apart from each other. For twenty years we worked in
the same office, sat on the same couch, slept in the same bed, and in
the end, when Connie was dying of Stage 4 cancer, I slept on the couch
next to her recliner where she was confined -- and when Connie
died, my face was six inches from hers as I whispered my love for her.
Now my beloved Connie is gone, and I have to restart my life. This
means clearing the debt, leaving the house where we lived together, and
learning how to live without the woman who made my life possible. I'm a
writer, and I have to write again, because it's all I know. So I'll be
finishing those long-neglected novels, and yes -- I will start blogging
again. I just need the funds to make that possible.