I knew you'd get it, sj. I haven't been overtly criticized, but sometimes I feel like I have to tone it down when I'm enjoying myself.

Well, it was 33 years later, to be fair. I'm all for Italian traditions, but the whole idea that your life should be over when you're a widow needs to go.

JZ, I had to cut off all contact with them. I haven't seen nor spoken to them since May 12. Which also means I haven't seen Coco for longer than that. I lost my dog too. I don't know how anyone would expect me to just sit there and take it when his father told me that he could see it in my eyes on our wedding day that I didn't love his son. Never mind that they walked through my house right after the funeral like it was Target. I lost a hockey stick that was autographed TO ME from the team Rob played for. I won that at auction even before we met. Again, I was told that he was taking it and there was no arguing about it. I let it go in the interests of keeping peace, but now I'm wishing I hadn't. None of these material goods will bring him back, but the way they behaved is appalling.

This is horrible, and they think you're acting badly? Ridiculousness.

And I know I have said it before, Maria, but you are always welcome to come here for a visit. It's not Italy, but I could take you to Federal Hill for good Italian food and lots of wine.

I feel like I'm living up to his parents' opinion that I'm a money-grubbing bitch who never loved their son.

So who do they think has been paying the bills?

There was no mourning when my father died, and my mother is practically giddy with finally not having to deal with her self-centered, ungrateful, racist sister, who died last year. I don't have many nostalgic Christmas memories, because Christmas is when alcoholics think they have a license to drink. I think my mother mourned a little for the man he could have been. He was smart, a great story-teller and could probably have made a fortune in the new world of competitive poker. This was all negated by his being a mean drunk with grandiose ideas.

There's no actual obligation to mourn. It is generally frowned upon to dance down the street singing "Ding, dong, the witch is dead."

Or like that old lady in one of my favorite H:LOTS episodes "Die, you bastard, die!"(She pushed her husband down the stairs.)

I figure the first year of widowhood is a blanket permission to do whatever you need to to heal. Deep formal mourning existed for a reason, as a blatant reminder that the person dressed in that much black was not coping on a typical level and needed lots of consideration. It's a shield for any type of reaction. Miss Manners' wise words on grief and the weird way it works has gotten me through many a grieving period.

Maria, I just want to send you hugs, and tell you that I hear you. Your inlaws were appalling, and I'm so sorry about Coco. They're wrong, of course, you know that, even while it hurts, and we're all solidly sure they're terribly cruelly wrong.

I can't offer advice, but a little solidarity, maybe. And as much shoulder as you need to lean on.

I stopped being able to see a future after Melisa died. I keep on having one, but it's not like I plan it, it just happens.

There's no actual obligation to mourn. It is generally frowned upon to dance down the street singing "Ding, dong, the witch is dead."

One of my favorite songs is the awful eulogy from The Phantom of the Paradise.

Maria, you know, if you ever need to run away for a while, I've got a spare bedroom you're welcome to.

Oh Maria, I wish I could be there to offer you physical support and distraction as needed, instead of "just" being a digital presence.

Oh, Maria. That's the kind of cruel, spiteful awful that would get thrown out of a story or screenplay for being too over-the-top.

Jesus wept. Really -- out of all the shitty, petty, nasty things we humans do that make Him weep (and punch holes in walls and knock over tables and however else He vents to blow off steam and get Himself to back off from just pitching us all into the nearest black hole), trying to decrease one's own pain and grief by deliberately increasing someone else's has got to be up near the top.

So many hugs, and virtual drinks, and fists of rage against those who wound you, and worlds of support for any choice you make that gives you the time and space and emotional refuge to heal.

I love you all. Trying really hard not to cry at my desk.

I know I said very nasty things to him and I didn't fight fair--I can be very mean and cruel when I feel I'm cornered--but why on earth did I marry him if I didn't love him? It surely wasn't for what he could buy me or all of the money in the bank.

I know I have places to run to, and I'm grateful for each and every home that has been or will be opened to me.