Carmen_Jones

Carmen Jones How A Widow Grieves At 28, Nicole Reda is learning that letting go of the pain over losing Greg means letting go of him. So she's adopted a few of his habits Nicole Reda's house is spotless. She has two young children and no hired help, but there isn't a Tonka truck in sight. The one sign of clutter is basket after basket of warm, crisply folded laundry. You can see your reflection in her living-room floor. Nicole used to be the messy half of her marriage. Her husband Greg was the family maid, quietly picking up other people's stuff. He wiped the bathroom mirror with Windex after his morning shower and gently insisted that he and Nicole rotate which chairs they sat in so no single cushion sagged from overuse. He actually enjoyed changing diapers. Ever since the Tuesday when Greg, 33, did not return from his 95th-floor office at 1 World Trade Center, Nicole has been the one sweeping and scrubbing. "I think that by cleaning and leaving his clothes in the closet and keeping things just the way he had them, it's like some part of him is still here even if the time is passing," she says. greg, nicole, greg's, first, just, one, michael, time, says, day, two, now, nicholas, go, about, without, think, she's, sept, out, night, home, children, calls, ago, after, years, together, started, since, sent, past, nicholas', morning, met, later, last, i'll, house, herself, grief, father, family, before, already, young, year, work, week