My journal is bloodied with pain; nothing in it is suitable for public perusal.  My second year of this journey proves crushingly hard...more difficult than the slow wade through the foggy first.  I'm empty...so much collateral loss.
Few write about this difficult year of grief, but the survivors seem to agree it is the loneliest and strikingly painful. 
" I wish someone would have warned me," a common theme among the spouses still standing.  
I agree.
"Time's up! Turn in your grief."  The mantra of the inexperienced and the cowardly...I, too, would like to rip this whole stinking test into little pieces, but this flicker of hope in me thinks this year is necessary. These might be the months He binds up my wounds.  
Like a novice backpacker, I keep discarding things that weigh me down, discovering what I truly need to walk out this arduous journey of grief.  I need God; this I know!  Together...one day at a time.