Coping with Widowhood: What Bob Collymore’s Death Has Taught Me

"I know I will need these for this conversation," Wambui Collymore says, setting down a box of tissues.

We are in the backyard garden of her new home, a balmy afternoon that would soon turn grey as the clouds hide the sun like a player would a white ball on a pool table. Palm trees rise all around us and birds chirp and hop from branches. There is postcard-like beauty in this backyard, but there's also grief and deep loss, hard to stare at with the naked eye because then it'd be akin to staring at your own mortality.