Regaining My Life - listen to the Podcast A longtime friend becomes a lover. Two years ago, my wife passed away. Processing the grief has been difficult because it has forced me to reconcile with my new identity as a widower. Supportive friends, neighbors, and colleagues have tried to help get me out of the house and away from the memories. Asking me to join their social events like fundraisers, parties, and cookouts have been great gestures but, I have yet to accept. I don’t feel that I am quite ready for that much socializing, so I stay home and curl up with a good book. It was a little past six on a warm Friday evening in mid-August. Dinner and the cleanup were complete. I settled down in one of the rocking chairs on my porch with my well-worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. The sun was just beginning to set behind one of the large maples on the west side of my property. About an hour and a half of filtered sunlight remained to enjoy the evening breezes and read about Frodo’s adventures in Middle Earth. There was a horn toot on the road, and I looked up to see Christina Ashby’s blue hybrid turning into the drive. Two years ago, my wife passed away. Processing the grief has been difficult because it has forced me to reconcile with my new identity as a widower. Supportive friends, neighbors, and colleagues have tried to help get me out of the house and away from the memories. Asking me to join their social events like fundraisers, parties, and cookouts have been great gestures but, I have yet to accept. I don’t feel that I am quite ready for that much socializing, so I stay home and curl up with a good book. It was a little past six on a warm Friday evening in mid-August. Dinner and the cleanup were complete. I settled down in one of the rocking chairs on my porch with my well-worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. The sun was just beginning to set behind one of the large maples on the west side of my property. About an hour and a half of filtered sunlight remained to enjoy the evening breezes and read about Frodo’s adventures in Middle Earth. There was a horn toot on the road, and I looked up to see Christina Ashby’s blue hybrid turning into the drive. I need to brief the reader on my relationship with Chris. First, we are both professors at the local college. Although she is 20 years my junior, she is one of my closest and dearest friends. Our friendship goes back eight years to when she first arrived at the college. Since neither her family, nor mine is close by, we have tended to look out for one another. For example, when Chris and her husband Jack came down with the flu, my wife Rosalind and I took them food, went to the pharmacy, and helped nurse them back to health. When Roz was sick, Chris brought me meals and tidied up around my house. She spent hours with me at Hospice House and was at my side when Rosalind passed away. Chris and Jack have continued to look out for me since. I have been a frequent dinner guest, they brought me into their home for the holidays, and Chris has come by regularly to check up on me. I was pretty sure that that’s what this was – a wellness check. My relationship with Chris has also been flirtatious, but completely platonic. Whenever I am having a conversation with her, we lock into some serious eye contact, not a couple of seconds, but rather several minutes at a time. I get lost in her brown eyes. It’s as if we undergo a mind meld and I can’t look away. Chris is also into exercise, 5Ks are her preferred poison, but she is also an avid hiker. While motherhood added a pound or two to her short, muscular frame, she is in excellent shape. Her breasts are a B-cup or so and she has a firm, toned butt. Her curvy hips complete the look of her attractive figure. She is a stylish dresser and exceptionally modest. I have never seen more than a bare shoulder or calf. I heard her car door slam, and she soon came into view, rounding the front of the house. “Hey, old man. Aren’t you going to Tin