It’s the worst part of the day.
Call them the dreary hours, the bummer time, the curse of the slow clock, or the sounds of silence.
It’s when work is over, even if you are no longer working.
If still working and back home at the usual time (whenever commuting and the after-work errands are accomplished), it was once the slice of the day you happily anticipated. You removed the wrinkled work clothes, sipped lemonade or wine, played with the kids or dog or both, ate dinner, watched television, and shared about this and that.
If retired, habit often means dinner continues at the same time. Even in retirement, the schedule is busy: hobbies, chores, watching the grandkids, and other activities clutter the calendar. By evening, there’s much to discuss about the day’s events. And—bonus—while the television murmurs in the background, you scheme about an upcoming cruise, mission project, or cross-country trip.
But now, your wife has died.
But now, your husband has died.
But now, in what was once the best part of the day—those sweet hours after the garage door closed and before tucking into bed for the night—you have a daily reminder of misery.
These are the dreary hours. Read More →by