by Tami Erickson

Created on: April 21, 2009   Last Updated: May 05, 2009

When I said, "Til death do us part" I didn't think that day would ever actually arrive. If anything, I was more concerned that my marriage would end in divorce like my last one had. We had our differences, true, but being best friends made our relationship an easy one. We really liked each other and enjoyed being together.

I was on my way home from a business trip, and had about five more hours of driving time when my cell phone rang. As I listened to my niece's hysterical voice on the other end of the phone I pulled onto the shoulder of the highway in disbelief. My husband of seven years was dead.

I thought I heard her wrong, but then a police officer got on the phone and calmly told me what had happened. I was stunned, and shaken to my very core. I assured the officer I was okay to keep driving and gave him my estimated time of arrival.

As I drove those five hours home, numbness enveloped me and I was more calm than I should have been, but I knew my instincts had kicked in and I had to get home quickly and safely.

There were four days of funeral rituals and ceremonies as required by his Native American customs and although I moved through them in a daze, the details still remain acutely clear to me to this very day. He was too young to die. Yes, he had been ill, but he was recovering and his prognosis for a full recovery was high. It just didn't make sense that the medicine that was supposed to help him had actually killed him.

I cried so much over those four days I thought I would never have tears to cry again. By the time the funeral rites ended, a fog had settled over me and left me paralyzed with pain. My doctor gave me a medical leave from work. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. I sat on my patio in the warm autumn sun day after day barely noticing the sun moving across the sky as the green leaves turned to amber. I had slipped into a deep depression and didn't even know it.

I probably would have sat in that chair on my patio until the snows buried me and froze me to death had it not been for the care and concern of family and friends. They stopped by over the next few weeks, talking quietly and sharing their memories of my husband with me. They were kind and reassuring. Some would sit quietly with me and never say a word, while others encouraged me to get back into a routine. "In time, you'll meet someone to love again," some softly said. I doubted it.

That old saying that time heals all wounds, is very true. As the weeks turned into months, I regained my

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