10 years ... 10 years since Bill took his last breath.  Lots has gone on ... but what has not, is my memory of "we".  I have lived with, wrestled with, and made tentative peace with grief ever since.

How quietly I have discovered, my journey with grief is unlike anyone else's because every road is distinctive.  You can be next to another in this experience, but your path presents itself and you find yourselves separated.  To be truthful, I've discovered that there is no speed limit through stages; no timeline, nor guarantee that you are done with the stages of grief.  (But I still can't put up with ... "I understand, my dog died!")

In this decade without Bill, I have cried, laughed and been with friends and family during their journey.  

In a recent conversation with a neighbour, I was reminded that my journey with grief, has taught me to offer advice only when asked; and, even then, I tread lightly; timid to intrude on the process of someone else moving forward with a crushed heart.

In this same conversation, I was reminded how important it is to silently listen to the stories they need to share, and by doing so, I acknowledge this special connection we share.  We are connected by this pain.

These are some of my truths about grief.

The tug of loss never really fully disappears - it changes.  Bill's absence was ever present in the first few years after his death.  It was the first thing on my mind when I woke up and was in every tear that fell on my pillow at night.  Because we as a family, were trying to be strong for each other, I felt alone with my grief.  But I must admit, I felt connected to him.

My loss of Bill does not consume me now, but it never goes away.

When our granddaughter Olivia was born, I wished Bill could still be here to share the tears of joy with me; but I didn't dwell on his absence in that moment.  I chose to be thankful, after all, the family was there with me to welcome this little miracle.  But once home, I let the tears flow as I had done before - when I was alone.  Grief comes out on these occasions and I am reminded of its fickle ways.

Finding healthy ways to cope.  In the early years, I wrote ... a lot!  I had three journals on the go.  My daily life, my blessing journal and my black journal.  With time my black journal became quiet, my daily journal became my art journal and my blessing journal grew.  Out of this, I reconnected with my art.

In many ways and many times I unsuccessfully tried to introduce new ways to cope to the family.  However, respecting their path.  I continued in silence.

The credit is mine. I've built a new life.  

No one asks for tragedy, yet it finds all.  Being a silver lining kind of person, I welcomed all these character-building opportunities.

• Because I live with loss, I enjoy the gift of each new day.
• Because I live with loss, I have new empathy for families faced with unexpected death.
• Because I live with loss, I value silence when supporting others who have loss.
• Because I live with loss, I have built layers of resiliency.

Life continues.  I have attended weddings, births and funerals.  

• I have cuddled my newborn grandchildren.
• I have ventured, taken trips on my own - (not much but ... ).
• My son Casey has met a wonderful woman and they are raising two beautiful children. 
• Leslie and Seth  have moved on to their own respectful lives. 
• I have learned to enjoy my own company not needing to be a "we".

Although my well of memories is deep, my passion for life continues.  
Bill has been gone for 10 years and  I am confident he approves ... and I know I am ok.