It’s been many years, but I still wake up every August 23 with a deep sense of loss.
Grief slowly lets go of its terrible grip on your heart and turns into a constant longing, a constant feeling of somebody missing from your life.
Over the last years I have sometimes felt it was good my parents didn’t have to experience my husband’s horrible betrayal, his choice to become polygamous. My parents loved him, trusted him just like I did. They would have been devastated. My hurt and suffering would have been heartbreaking to them. I would have been so ashamed of what he did if they had been here to witness it.
At the same time, I have missed being able to have my mother hold me when I cried, have my father stroke my hair.
My mother planted some of the roses that grow in our garden.
I am going to visit their grave today, and I’ll bring some of the most beautiful roses.
Life goes on.