The Next Hurdle...

...will be our anniversary in a couple weeks.

I've tried to not think about that. This would have been our eighth anniversary. Only our eighth, still so new.

I've spent the past couple of weeks trying to do various exercises in gratitude, to remind myself of all of the good things that are still in my life. Some days it's easy, others it's hard. As I try to think of good things I still hear that voice that reminds me he's gone.

We should have had an eighth anniversary. And a ninth. And a tenth. We had plans for our tenth, we were going to take a nice vacation. We were thinking about renewing our vows. We were definitely going to be fit and healthy. So many plans.

I'm not through the first year yet, but I've gone through my birthday, his birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas... I think I've covered the major milestone events. With the exception of the first time I mark off the anniversary of his death, this will be the last big day I'll have to face for the first time by myself.

It won't be easy, in fact out of every day I've looked at I think this is going to be the hardest to deal with. This will be the day that we officially joined our lives together. This will be the day that I knew, without doubt, that I would never be alone again.

It's gonna be tough.

More random late night observations

There are times when I feel like we were on our journey together, and as we came to a door Jeff went through, but I became trapped on the wrong side of the door. Or, perhaps, he got stuck and I went through, I suppose that depends on one's perspective. The result is the same, I feel like we're standing on opposite sides of the door and I can't figure out how to open it so we can be reunited.

Maybe This Time...

Most nights I walk to the kitchen door and look out at the driveway. I tell myself it's just a routine security check, to make sure all the doors are locked, that everything looks good.

But I hope, each time, that I'll see him getting out of the car. Sometimes I stand there for a moment and ask, "Jeff, where are you? When are you going to get home?"

No, I know. I know.

But it doesn't stop me from thinking that maybe just this once it will be different.

So Here's Today

6 months ago at this moment... I was probably sitting in the living room watching him closely because he'd been feeling way under the weather. I'd been pestering him that he should go to the ER but he was opposed. He assured me he'd make a doctor appointment the next week - he didn't have a regular doctor but he was going to start.

A healthy life was on the way.

Now it's been six months and I am living outside of the regular flow of linear time, I'm pretty sure of that. While the world is zipping past for everyone else, seasons come and go, months go by, people have birthdays and anniversaries and celebrate milestones, it's stood still for me. I'm standing outside of all of it, watching a movie.

I think time stopped six months ago yesterday, on Halloween, at somewhere around five o'clock. Six months ago when he was at work and I was at home, waiting for him to get back. Time is standing still for me. November 1 hasn't happened yet, and he's on his way home. He should be giving me a call anytime now to tell me he's leaving, and so I can think about getting dinner ready for us.

I've lived the entire past six months feeling like he's on his way home and I'm just waiting. Normal day, normal events, all I have to do is be patient. He'll be here. I sometimes tell myself that it's really true.

I know he's not going to walk in the back door. I know.

It's so odd. On one hand time has come to a standstill... on the other, I feel about twenty years older than I did six months ago. And yet, I want it to still be October 31, the last full day of my life that was normal and full of hope and good dreams.

Jeff talked about time travel. About just going through the motions of the day in such a fixed routine that you don't even think of breaking free. You just exist, you don't care about the future, you don't plan, nothing is worthwhile. You just exist. And then six months have somehow passed you by and you haven't even picked up a pair of socks from the floor on his side of the bed.

I've spent the past few days telling myself that in the next six months I'm going to begin my slow climb back to myself. I'm going to begin moving ahead, I'm going to take charge of my life and make things happen for me. I'm going to make my husband proud and emerge from my cocoon and be the person he always believed I could be.

I keep telling myself that, but today it's so hard to imagine any light at the end of the tunnel. Today it feels so dark and so hopeless. Today I just want to curl up under my blanket and cry.

The first six months are almost over, Jeff. I've survived this long, but I don't think I've lived. But I'll do my best to tackle the next six, and remind myself that I can't give up.

I love you.