Given the opportunity, I tell everyone I meet that I am a widow.
I'm not exactly sure why.
I've told family members, friends, workmates, medical professionals, solicitors, ministers and all the obvious people normal people would tell straight away.
But I've also been compelled to tell complete strangers that the love of my life has died and the light has gone out in my universe.
In the past week, I've felt the need to tell a bloke who had come to repair the front door , a woman who was looking over the hard garbage on our footpath and someone I struck up a conversation with while in the queue at the Woolies checkout.
Maybe I need them to know that I am suffering.
Maybe I want them to know I am suffering, but I am still standing.
Maybe I need them to know that I am incredibly strong, just because I didn't dive into that hole they put his coffin in.
Maybe I just need to tell me story over and over again just in case someone looks at me and says "Yeah - me too. I thought I was the only one".
So I go on, telling my story to anyone who will listen.
Hoping (but dreading) that I see that flicker of recognition in the eyes of someone else.
...and I can tell them they are not alone.
...and I can truly know that I am not alone either.