The path is barely visible

I arrived exactly at the designated time; there were only one or two shoppers among the jars and bottles at the entrance to the garden centre cafe. Then I saw a man scrutinising the expensive wines. Yes, he was wearing the short overcoat and dark trousers as stated in his email. However, the 'six foot one figure' turned out to be my height and looked older than his photo. He saw me and called out my name. I smiled politely as he approached, knowing this was definitely not going to develop into anything.

We sat at a remote table for two with our coffee and for an hour and a half I listened. He is still very much suffering in his grief, and stated that he wasn't ready for a relationship with anyone else. So, at the end I asked if being on the dating website was a good idea. "Oh Yes", said he, "I enjoy the company of women, and I enjoy talking to them." As a woman, and not a bad looking woman for my age, I'd really like a man to show interest in me. Unfortunately I knew what this man was going through, and he was very much deep in painful grief, therefore the meeting was fairly predictable.

We shook hands when I said I really needed to get back. I went home and erected a willow fence... much better than meeting strangers in a cafe!

The old swing

We used to sit on this swing with either a cup of coffee or a G & T and gently sway to and fro, discussing this and that. We moved the swing from our last house along with numerous enormous plants that were wedding gifts. Now his ashes sit in the big pots near the swing and help the two roses burst forth each summer.

Tomorrow I meet up with another widower at a local Garden Centre (not the one I worked briefly in). But I hold no hope of anything coming of it. No-one is like my lovely departed man and never will be. I rather think I will be a shoulder to cry on for this man who has only been widowed for one year. No time at all! Here I am two and a half years' down the line and still hurting, but I can't tell him that. I will have to give him some hope.

Some days the pain is muted. Other days it is still as raw as the first weeks after he died. So, I went online today and downloaded three courses that I'm interested in doing: a) Garden Design b) Archaeology and c) Holistic Massage Therapy. It's a close run thing as to which I shall choose.

Got to do something to prove I'm still alive and breathing on this unforgiving planet.

A New Bright Snowy April Day

The Garden Centre didn't go well... lifting, shifting and pushing three-tier trolleys and dealing with people... I was exhausted, tired, hungry, disillusioned and desperate for a pee. The Porta-Loo was overflowing, and for me, a no-go area. I arrived home in tears having told the Boss that the job wasn't for me. They were disappointed saying, "But your'e such a good worker and a quick learner." Yeah, and a mug too.

Never mind, onwards and hopefully upwards. My migraine has now gone and my sudden eruption of a cold sore is dying down - all signs of the stress and exhaustion I've suffered. I am more cheerful and have been out in the snow this morning to take photos of my beautiful early flowers.

Thank you Puddock for your kind words and understanding of the fragile existence of we widows who are struggling along a foggy path. May we both enjoy sunshine once again.