Is it wrong that I think every tick of the clock is counting down the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades until I see him again? Actually don’t answer that.
Everyone seems so freaked out by my crying at random moments … when the words of a song catch me off-guard, when someone is unexpectedly kind to me, when I’m making a cuppa and go to make him one as well…. I can’t help it and what’s more, I don’t think I should try.
I am sad.
Pretty much all of the time.
I’m OK with that.
After all, its only been 38 days since I kissed him goodbye and sent him off for work. I’m barely getting my head around the fact that he isn’t coming home. My fairytale didn’t have a happy ending. We didn’t live happily ever after.
Evenings are the worst – I have to remind myself not to listen for his car in the driveway at ~6:30pm.
I have to remind myself that its all me right now … there are no nights off duty. There is no-one else to pick up bread or milk on the way home.
And there sure as hell isn’t a warm familiar body to curl up to in bed each night.
The anally-retentive part of me keeps wanting to write these posts in order and I’ve begun and scrapped a post on the funeral about four times now. It just wont come out yet. I feel the need to write it down – I’m so scared of forgetting something, anything that I need to do it.
Just not now.