At the beginning of May, I finally finished a colossal edit on my memoir and sent it off to a professional editing company for a final check. I received the manuscript back five days later only to find that they had not given me the specific editor I requested and paid for. After much disappointment, soul searching and breathing, I decided to try and work with the editing I had received. The comments were not so much about writing style as they were about opinions on depression. I launched into a week of research on depression and suicide. This was not the first time I had done this, but during this research, something remarkable happened.

I came across a term that I hadn’t read anything about before. I followed the link. As I read page after page until three in the morning, my jaw literally hung open. I was reading about my husband. Four years after he died, and in not seeking a label, I found one that described him better than anything else I had come across and it provided me with some clarity. This was all due to receiving the ‘wrong’ editor! I now feel that the four years I have spent writing my way through grief are finally over. Although I am still doing the final edits, I know that a part of my journey is completed.

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