You see, a big part of my identity had been as an optimist, as someone who believed she could conquer the world. Then Reg died, and I lost that part of myself.
I often cry when I see pictures of myself from before his death. I looked happy and had a sparkle in my eyes. In many photos, I even glowed. After he died, I mourned the loss of that woman—the old me. I would look—and still look—at her and think she was so naïve. She had no idea what was coming down the pike. I would also get mad at her. How could she not have known? How could she have been so naïve? It was as if I turned into two people: the me before and the me after his death.
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