Every day I hold my breath when returning home. I have practiced and prepared for “the day” that I come home and he has passed away. I am a planner. I have a plan on who I will call first, blah blah blah…

This is the sickest, saddest thief of joy. I sometimes hate to leave home because I am scared of what I may find when I return. My heart stops every time I pull into my driveway. I say a prayer each time I turn the key in the lock.

I create this anxiety, this worry, this panic this frustration. I spend my days pretending I am not afraid. I am petrified of losing my husband. I pretend that I am strong enough to handle it…..but returning home every day gives me anxiety…and takes a little more from me each day.

People ask me why I don't get out and go places and enjoy myself…and I pretend it’s not because of my fears