A bottle of red, a bottle of white It all depends upon your appetite I'll meet you any time you want In our Italian Restaurant
~Billy Joel, Scenes from An Italian Restaurant~
DH and I managed to sneak out for another dinner in Boston’s North End (thanks to my mom who stayed at our house for a few hours). We went to a very good restaurant and were pleasantly surprised that the crowds which prevailed in December had abated.
In the past, we’d get out once every few months. Now I’m finding that our more frequent dinners are a way to sustain the closeness that we came to know after September 18th. We can have heart to hearts – laugh, cry and remember.
I still harbor so much pain and guilt. DH knows that – but talking through it with him helps. Being able to tell him my fears and concerns about what lays ahead helps. Clinking glasses of red wine in a toast to our son’s memory helps. Nothing is a magic elixir that will bring me back to who I was before – it’s all just a way to get used to being the new me.