“But Sandi, I’ve been crying so hard I can’t even read my credit card number…”

You know what?  You shouldn’t have to!

These stories are free because I still remember exactly where I was standing when the woman on the phone asked me whether I wanted to pay the $120 by check… or by credit card.

WHAT?
The grief support group for “young widows” came with a price tag?!

I had the money.  Quite honestly, I would have paid anyone anything at that point had I thought they might have a positive impact on lowering the number of tissues I was going through on an hourly basis.  But having the money wasn’t the point.  The point was: How could grieving cost money?  And who decided on $120?  And, most importantly, exactly how much healing does a grief-stricken widow get for that sum of money?

I was nearly unconscious with grief.  I was exhausted from not sleeping.
I wanted to crawl under my bed and die.  I was at the lowest, saddest point in my life… and I desperately needed to feel as if someone understood.  The last thing I needed was some grief support group woman asking me for my preferred method of payment.

It was the same feeling I would get when I used to come down from the cancer floor at the hospital in Boston where Drew lay dying…and I had to pay for parking each day.  A knife through an already aching heart.  Cancer parking fees.  Grief support group fees.  Same thing.  Pain on top of pain on top of…pain.

It was all becoming clear to me. Now that Drew was dead and they could no longer get parking money from me, they had another angle. Now they were putting a price tag on helping me to climb a rung or two up the ladder out of hell.

I remember that feeling in the pit of my stomach…of disbelief and hurt.  Didn’t anyone understand what I was suffering through?  Didn’t anyone know I could barely wake up each morning to feed my children? Didn’t anyone know that the fact that I had been wearing the same clothes for 5 days straight didn’t phase me in the least?   Didn’t anyone get it?

It was more than my aching heart and exhausted brain could absorb.  I got off the phone, wrote my check, and cried another layer of tears.  It was the final insult.

It has been 5 years and a few assorted months since that phone call.  And I still remember where I was standing when she asked me if I wanted to pay by check or credit card. I was standing in my bedroom.  The room where Drew had died only months earlier.

And that’s why this collection of stories is free.

So that when you wake up in the middle of the night and need to feel understood, or need a glimmer of hope or inspiration, or are just tired of watching the WE cable channel and want to make it till the dawn of another day…. you can get something real.  You can read it online.  You can even print it out and cry on it…or rip it to shreds and use it for kindling in your fireplace.   Whatever makes you feel better.  And you can get it all without trying to type in your credit card number.

I know how hard it is to read those credit card numbers when you’ve been crying for weeks and have tissue lint all over your eyelashes.  I really do.

Click on any story title below to get a more intimate glimpse into my journey….and I hope I can  help you on yours.

Magic Hour
What is Sacred
Deck the Halls
Dressing for Eternity
Please Stop Cooking for Us
Please Stop Trying to Make Me Feel Better
Feliz Navidad
Follow Your Bliss
The Plumber and the Panties
The First Kiss