On Saturday I saw a matinee of a new production of the musical “Evita.” First staged in 1978, and made into a movie in 1996, I somehow missed both the play and the film. Of course, I had heard the title song. Who hasn’t?
The production had a few imperfections, but I found it mesmerizing. I went with a couple that Peter and I had shared many wonderful events with. After we parted, around 5:00 pm, I felt a little sad, so I stopped in a nearby florist shop, and bought myself a bunch of daisies, the flower that marked so many happy occasions in my marriage.
But that didn’t lighten my mood.
I had been warned by friends that unexpectedly, serious grief returns periodically after losing a loved one. And on Saturday, I couldn’t hold back my tears as I faced the evening alone.
I texted my older son that I was in a funk, and he called. We chatted for twenty minutes. As always, he made me laugh. And all with my world was OK again.
The next morning, thanks to YouTube, I listened to Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.
My eyes filled with tears.
Widowhood isn’t for sissies.

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