When the fog surrounding the death of a spouse finally lifts, there are practical problems to be addressed.  There is a new social and financial reality.  There are mundane problems such as home upkeep and repairs.  I have walked this road for almost seven years and have emerged, whole for the most part.

My husband was the resident repair person in our home.   Anything that required entry into the crawl space under half the house was his job. It is an area I avoid entering at all costs.  It is quite uncomfortable for me as I am tall and a bit claustrophobic.  Back in the day the crawl space flooded and leaked into the living area of the basement with every major storm.  When we gathered the resources, we had a french drain cut into the crawl space.   Essentially, it is a 40 foot trench filled with gravel or rock or containing a perforated pipe that redirects water to a well in which a pump is installed which sends the water to a similar system outside the house and thus the problem was solved. I understood the concept of it, but once the problem was solved, I never gave it much thought.  It worked quite efficiently for 30+ years. A year ago, the pump quit and although I did not get flooded, I got seriously puddled.  It was time to learn mechanics of the system.   Since my aging ego refuses let me be helpless, I swallowed my discomfort and I went deep into the crawl space to inspect the problem.  I discovered the well cover was dislodged, and debris had caused the pump to burn out.  Professional assistance was required.  The workmen cleared the trench and the well, put in a new pump and a back up pump, and secured the well cover.   I once again went into the crawl space to give the work a thorough inspection.  I noticed a not-so-well done cement patch and thought I would be lodging a complaint.  When I got closer, I saw it had been repaired many, many years before by my husband. Some of his repairs, although successful, were not pretty.  In the crudely applied cement was carved a heart with our initials.  Guess that cement was pretty well done after all.  I still avoid the crawl space, but the memory of the cement patch still gives me the warm and fuzzies.