Not long after my husband, Keith, died suddenly in April 2000, I overheard one of his family members tell someone that she didn’t feel sorry for me and my young children. “This will make them stronger,” she asserted.
Seventeen years later, her words taunted me as I shuffled across the sizzling parking lot of a suburban shopping center on my way to a therapist’s office. Stronger. What a joke; I could barely walk.
Once inside, I slumped into an oversized chair and wearily told my new therapist...