Gone 12 days. A dozen days, and egg for each one. We haven't been apart more than 12 hours in 12 years. Now the days of April are seeping out of the calendar. And he is missing the spring , the season of dreams of days spent on the deck.
The week is a blur, I vacillate between sheer and utter terror of the future and hysterical pain of the past. Everything around me is a reminder I walk from room to room not sure why I am moving around, what I am looking for......I can hardly stand to be in the kitchen, each drawer and cabinet built and installed by my dead husband D E A D. It seems so wrong, I fantasize that he will walk through the door. It will be a cruel joke a surprise from the master of surprises. See all I wanted was for you to _________________. I fill in the blank with a ever changing list. Lose Weight, quit drinking, sleep more, relax more, read more, listen to music more, learn how the electronics in the house work. Once I did that he would come back and appear so larger than life so big in my vision. There he is in the doorway of the kitchen arms out, smiling waiting for my half of an embrace. I walk towards him and he vanishes. I haven't filled in the blank yet. How much time do I have?
I feel that I may be just on the edge of sanity. So many things I don't tell my therapist. like how I google suicide. How I imagine taking all the pills in the house then deciding the only sure way to do it is to get a gun and blow my brains out. So much for setting myself on fire in front of my employer's.
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