The Time Has Come

When I began this blog, I made a commitment to keep it up for one year. At the time, only nine days after my husband’s suicide, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that year would bring. I couldn’t bear the thought of living without him for a whole year, and that was part of the reason I committed myself to the blog: It would keep me accountable if I started to feel that life was no longer worth living, if Mike’s final solution started to tempt me. My heart was broken, and I couldn’t imagine that it would ever heal… but I have always turned to writing to understand myself, to make sense of the incomprehensible, to heal. Like a drowning person clinging to a life preserver, I clung to the hope that this blog would somehow help me heal.

I wrote that first post one year ago today. I look back now and am frankly astonished at all that I survived this year. On top of the sudden, devastating loss of my soul mate and dearest love… I also lost the home and family we’d made together, several friends, and my job. I was unemployed and homeless, dependent on family and friends for a place to stay, for seven months. I totalled my car. I’ve struggled with physical health issues as well as depression.

But I found a new car, a new  job, a new apartment. With the help of a therapist, a support group, and a wonderful support system of family and friends, I’m healing and I’m building a new life for myself, one step at a time. In the last week, I feel like I’ve turned a corner. I know it’s not THE corner, that the path through grief has lots of twists and turns and often doubles back on itself. I know there are hard times, lots of grieving, lots of tears still ahead. But there are also good times, laughter, moments that make me glad I’m still alive.

It’s no longer my darkest hour. The dawn may be creeping in slowly, and it may take a long time before I stand in the warmth of full sunlight… but I can see the first warm, pink glow tinging the sky and I know that it’s coming.

This will be my last post on The Hour Before Dawn. I’ve done this first leg of my journey very publicly, been very raw and honest and vulnerable. I’ve also been deeply moved to learn that other people on their own dark grief journeys have found comfort and healing in my words. I would like to keep offering that comfort and support, and I may very well be back with a new blog one day.  I just know that I need to take some time to focus on my new life, and that it’s time to let The Hour Before Dawn go.

I want to thank everyone who has taken this journey with me, buoyed me with your support and love. I honestly couldn’t have done it without you. If you want to keep in touch, and we don’t already, you can email me at I would love to hear from you.

In the words of Pink Floyd, “The time has come, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say…”


~ by hourbeforedawn on March 12, 2011.

10 Responses to “The Time Has Come”

  1. Your post brought to mind something I once heard about the Jewish tradition of a year of grief…looking online I found this info:
    Judaism provides a beautiful, structured approach to mourning that involves three stages. When followed carefully, these stages guide mourners through the tragic loss and pain and gradually ease them back into the world. One mourner said her journey through the stages of mourning was like being in a cocoon. At first she felt numb and not perceptively alive, yet gradually she emerged as a butterfly ready again to fly.

    While ‘congratulations’ sounds weird here – I want to say “good on ya” or something like that…you’ve done so much good for yourself and others on this blog. I’ve learned so much and was really glad to have this way to support you. Count me in for future blogs. You’ll hear from me in other ways. Much love to you, my friend.

  2. Dear Lira; heartfelt thanks for having shared this first year so openly, and for offering comfort and support to newer widows like myself. You’ve helped me through some dark days; I’m glad, that in doing so, you’ve had some comfort too. Do take care of yourself. I’ll be thinking of you. Hugs, strength and love from afar.

  3. Your journey has helped me with my own. I thank the universe for you, your raw honesty, vulnerability and the way you express yourself. It’s helped me feel less alone. You’ve been a source of courage and strength. Bless you Lira.

  4. I so hope that you are realizing the immense and amazing strength that you have had during this past year. Very few would be as courageous ~ You are very talented in writing from the heart…I hope you continue to do so. Your words can be balm to the soul. Take good care and keep looking for the sunlight!


  5. Dear Lira,
    Gerry and I have followed your progress through your sensitive and insightful writing. I have saved all your blogs from this past year. You provided me with comfort while I tried to make some sense of all that has happened. We all feel the terrible loss in our family and are relieved that you have made such progress. We wish you the very best that life has to offer. I believe that we are all returning from the depths we reached just a few months ago when Michael left us. God bless you!

    • Dad, I’m so glad that my writings provided you with some comfort during this most difficult and painful year… and I’m glad to hear that you also feel that you’re beginning to return from the depths of grief and despair. I love you and Gerry-Mom very much and am so grateful for your continued support.

  6. Good luck with all you do in your life. Thank you for making me feel as though I am not alone in this long journey of grief.

  7. Thank you for sharing this year of yours with all of us. I have enjoyed your honesty, and even a kind of adventurous spirit that you’ve shown, despite your grief. I hope you continue to heal and to find at least a little joy every day.

  8. I know I’ve only commented once before, and we don’t know each other. I wanted to thank you for writing. It comforts me to know that I am not alone or crazy by grieving over my ex-husband’s suicide. Monday will mark a year-and-a-half since his death, my son’s been asking questions about his dad, and that has prompted another phase of my grieving. I hope you continue to heal and move forward and write.

    I had the laziest day today, and I feel so validated by taking it after reading your February entries.


  9. …as you were bidding adieu to the past and seeing the sun peek through the clouds, I am just starting my journey. I am so relieved that THERE IS HOPE and HEALING after a while. In my current state, I do not see it, because like you, I lost my other half – I lost my heart and I do not know where to start picking up the pieces… Thank you for sharing your story..

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