At the time of my husband's untimely death, we had been married forty-five years, which meant I had not just lost my one true love, but I was also lost We were each other's best friends, and whatever one of us did was filtered through the lens of what we knew about the other's desires. I thought it impossible to survive without him because there were too many tasks, decisions, plans that he alone managed. As I shared with close friends my struggle to accomplish left-brain tasks previously foreign to me, they laughed heartily. I saw that grief had a funny side. Each segment of my book tells a different aspect of my journey to successfully function without Waverly. I reveal my intimate thoughts and actions in a stream-of-conscience writing style, rather than to tell my story in chronological order. Most experiences are highly amusing, but for times when I found no humor, I created a chapter called "Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This." Writing this book was cathartic for me, but I also wanted to connect with readers who are mourning like I am. Humor is excellent medicine. I apologized to a dear friend for naively thinking that grieving over the loss of her husband was something that diminished in time. I foolishly likened her grief to a wound that looked awfully painful at first, but got better each day until only a tiny scar remained. I now know that these distinct scars will never disappear, and that coping with grief is the only way to find a measure of happiness again. It's called a "new normal." I've learned that grief is like a roller coaster, where the ride never ends, and the goal is to find the courage to let go your grip of the safety bar and raise your arms high in the air, as you "free fall" with confidence that you'll land safely, in your right mind.