three years

It was supposed to be this magic number - all of the widows groups said so. It was written in every grief book,talked about by every therapist: No big decisions for three years. Things will feel different in three years. Try not to do anything stupid for three years. Don't do anything important for three years. But here we are three days away - and there is nothing magic about it - I still cry in the grocery store, still keep his office like shrine, still wear his hoodie when I feel lost. Plus I've broken all of those rules.