My wife was diagnosed with ALS a bit over 13 years ago. She died three years later on the day after Thanksgiving. She left me to raise four kids, the oldest just about to graduate from high school. The youngest was ten. I carried on as a father is expected to. I don’t think I really started healing until I lost my job and took an early retirement this past June. It’s hard to start really feeling again after so many years of just closing everything off and surviving. I see so much of what I did in those intervening years as ways of covering up the pain and not dealing with it. Part of me still berates myself for wasting so much time. But healing happens in its own time. Unfortunately, we don’t get to set the schedule. I wish you well.

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father, motorcyclist, old retired guy who’s just a little lost on a blue marble corkscrewing its way to oblivion

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