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The Story Changes Direction: Dave’s Dying, My Grief, and an Unanticipated Recovery
This is a place-holder and advance notice, because I’ve stepped into a new landscape of personal life and am paying attention to the paths taken that got me here.
For those of you who’ve been following the pieces on Medium, here’s a quick summary:
I began with how I married in college, divorced not many years later, then arrived in Vermont and adapted to “country life” with a brilliant and charming yet emotionally erratic second husband R and a baby — then added another baby, born at home in our barely wind-proof Vermont farmhouse.
Unfolded along with the divorce from R came a devastating housefire from which the kids and I were incredibly fortunate to escape alive (at 23 below zero, three days after Christmas), some challenging choices of partners, a realization that the alcohol in the household was as much my own issue as it was G the glassblower’s, and the start of 33+ years of alcohol-free life, aka recovery.
When I was 50, I met and married Dave (also 50 when we met), who was in every major sense my soulmate and the person with whom I recovered emotionally…
