I had my first encounter with a coyote the other day, while on my early morning walk. I use walking sticks for the purpose of both support and protection on these solitary occasions.

When I saw the coyote, I decided to turn around and head home, but he started to follow me. My only solution was to confront him and scare him away. The sticks were handy to raise and wave around, and when I banged them together, he turned and ran in the opposite direction.

Grief is a predator, just like a coyote. You never know when you will encounter him following you and giving you a scare. I went for several days feeling much better, and then went to a memorial for a dear friend, Byron O'Donnell. The inspiring music at the memorial reminded me so much of both Darrell and Byron, I found myself in tears once again.

The date turned out to be exactly two months since my husband's death date. I never know what reminder will set me off in tears, but what I do know is that it is something that I will just have to work through, one day at a time.

This painting, "Could Have" was created in honour of Byron one day when he was feeling devastated after being rejected by an adored lady friend.

 Grief sucks, bigtime. You can't just ignore it. You can't count on others to support you all of the time and answer your needs. It takes a lot of work.

As a semi-retired person, I sure don't want more work. Two days a week at the office is enough for me. But after a month and a half since my husband's death, the "busy" things are nearly done, and real life is sinking in. The funeral is done. Business and financial aspects are looked after. I have done a lot of cleaning, sorting and removal of his clothes and old things. 

Now I am entering the stage of depression. When I am with other people it is okay to be a bit sad, but others expect me to be more normal and cheery. Others don't want to hear the death story anymore, and don't want to listen to how much I miss the man that I loved. Thankfully, I am blessed that not everyone is this way.

The cheery person at the cash register asks me, "How is your day going?" I refrain from saying, "I am eating a burger and fries to drown my sorrow at the loss of my husband." I smile and say, "Just fine." People pass me on the path during my morning exercise walks, and I smile and say "Good morning." My tears continue to fall after they have gone by.

Creating this painting is another way I can work out my grief. I painted it while I listened to our favourite singer, Michael Buble and he sang the song "Quando, Quando". Darrell and I danced the rhumba to this song at our wedding reception. I will never forget it. Below is a short video showing the stages of the piece as I wept and painted.