It's been a little over eight months now since I lost my husband to pancreatic cancer. Overall, I think I'm doing fairly well. The house is still standing. I am still standing. Those both seem like significant wins. I get through most days now without hardly a tear but there are those other days, days when I find myself unexpectedly crying. Maybe it's a song on the radio or a touching scene on the screen setting off memories or reminding me of dreams unfulfilled. I cry then. It's impossible to hold back the grief, the self-pity, the wishes for more, or the distress at what happened in those last few weeks. But for the most part, I think I am functioning fairly well. I am keeping my shit together. I am getting stuff done. I am taking care of what needs to be taken care of, whether that's the house, the bills, the car, the camper, the day job, the kids, or the grandbaby. Every now and again I give myself permission to do nothing, though, because the lo...