Six months ago – almost to the hour – I got the knock on my door delivering news no one ever wants to hear.

It is permanently etched in my memory. It was March 19, 2009 at 10:10am. I was working at home that morning, and I’d been lazy and hadn’t changed out of my pajamas. I’d thrown on a sweatjacket to go to the door, and the dogs were barking in the background.

It was two men in plain clothes. They said they were with the police. The things that go through your mind at that point… Car accident? Past due parking tickets? Certainly couldn’t be a criminal investigation. I offered to step outside to talk to them in peace, but they suggested we go inside where I would be comfortable. I asked for ID, and my heart broke when the lead gentleman flashed his, identifying him as the assistant coroner.

Ben was home too, in the office, and without argument he took the dogs so I could talk. I think he heard the panic in my voice.

I sat down, and they told me: my husband Bryan had collapsed and died that morning at the Bainbridge ferry terminal. They didn’t have many details, they only knew the basics. He’d collapsed while in line, fellow passengers including a doctor helped him immediately, ferry staff were on scene in seconds and EMTs arrived in minutes. EMTs treated him on scene for 45 minutes, closing the passenger ferry ramp, but were unable to save him. The coroner had talked with his doctor and they felt it was a sudden, massive heart attack.

The news was surreal. I didn’t cry, scream, faint, or panic. It just washed past me, like water around a rock in a stream. Sadly, strangely, all I could think of was that I was in my pajamas with no bra – I was so embarrassed. (Good lord, these men recover and examine dead bodies for a living – they certainly don’t care about pajamas!) While they went to get death certificate paperwork, I ran upstairs and put on jeans and a sweater.

After they left, I sat for a minute. Ben was upstairs in hysterics, I was numb, shocky, and still felt like stone. After a few deep breaths, I began making the phone calls that would turn everyone’s world upside down.

Now, six months later, I’m sitting in the same family room in the same seat. I’m not in my pajamas. I’m surrounded by a group of awesome, cheerful kids who keep my heart young.

It’s been a really difficult time but we’re slowly rebuilding. I’ve had periods of numbness, storms of tears, and intermittent bouts of melancholy. I’ve made it through a fairly intense period of insomnia and anxiety, and am am on a more even keel now. We’ve had three very meaningful memorial services – one here, one in Anchorage, and one on the water, to scatter his ashes. I’ve gone through his things and organized our financial and practical picture. After careful reflection, I’ve changed my name back to my maiden name.

I’ve fallen in love with my family and friends all over again; they are the silver lining in this very dark cloud. I’ve gotten back into exercise, particularly distance and open water swimming, and it’s been great for my sanity. We’ve learned to sail, living aboard a sailboat for a week, and it was exactly the vacation we needed. We’ve adopted a psychotic kitten. I’m slowly rediscovering my creativity, although admittedly it’s been more ideas than follow-through at this point.

What’s next? I’ll always remember and love Bryan, and life will continue to remind me of how much I miss him at unexpected times. Still, I’ll continue to rebuild, to grow healthier and stronger and maintain connections to those I love. I need to get to the point where I’m happy living alone and truly enjoy my own company. I do want to sell this house and downsize to a condo; this house & yard is just too big for me to take care of on my own. I also want to see my children healthy, happy, and successfully launched into their own lives, sooner rather than later.

Beyond that? It’s an adventure – there will always be tragedy and joy – and I’ll figure it out as I travel the twisting, turning river.