I may have reached some sort of turning point along this tearful journey. I can even see this blog coming to an end (to be replaced by another) by the time June gets here and my First Official Year as a Widow is over. I ran errands this morning, dogs in tow, and when I was leaving the Fed Ex store, Petula Clark’s This is my Song, came on the radio. It was one of Clint’s favorites, and I suddenly felt as though I could not drive the car, so I pulled into another parking place and dropped my head down on the ridiculous eelskin-covered steering wheel in Clint’s car and wept as though he had just died yesterday. Tears dripped onto my sunglasses until I took them off and then they dripped onto my pants. I heaved and moaned and didn’t care if anyone saw me. And no, I didn’t turn off the song. I embraced my grief and my tears and heard it through to the last note. It became my song and I could feel each word and note pulse through me. When it was over, I used about six tissues to blow my nose and clear my vision so I could go on. And go on, I did. I had one stop before coming home and I polished my sunglasses and walked into Kroger to buy a pill splitter and some Cetaphil. Then I drove home and put away all the shit I bought and started cleaning my house and washing sheets.