Dear Dirty Diary part 9
Dear Dirty Diary, Eight weeks had passed since Doug had come home from the hospital. He was still a little pale looking and complained of being cold all the time because of the blood thinners. The night before, he was detached and completely immersed in a Blue Jays baseball game. Early the following morning was gray and rainy and I was feeling quite sorry for myself. Like a fool looking for comfort, I went down into the den, popped in that Lisa Brokop “When I get to be you” CD into the...