Widow Is a Word About Me. It Doesn't Describe Who I Am.

On missing your person — and learning, slowly, to come back to yourself.

Recently I went out to dinner with good friends. The ones who know everything.

It was raining — no, pouring. And without skipping a beat, D looked at his wife and me and said: I’ll be back with the car to pick you up.

That’s what I miss most days. Not the grand gestures. Not the anniversaries or the milestone moments. The ordinary ones. The person who not…