So Saturday marks three months. One quarter of a year. I have been trying to keep my head down and stay focused. I’ve grown accustomed to small outbursts of crying when I’m by myself. It’s strange because I don’t seem able to cry in public much anymore. I don’t feel like sharing my grief. It’s private now. I wish I could talk to you because I have so much stuff I would love to bounce off of you. Emma’s upcoming trip to Europe is giving me some real unwanted anxiety.
People have gone back to their lives and I only hear from some of them when they are ready to reach out. Most just haven’t. It’s totally ok because I really get it but it’s weird how it’s a single time period event in their lives but to us it’s an every day thing. Every day I wake up and realize all over you are no longer here. Every day I look at your closed closet and wonder if I will ever be able to deal with that. Your toiletries are still in your bathroom where you left them. I just work around them. I’m sure the neighbors across the street notice that your bathroom light stays on all night, every night. The hole in the wall halfway down the stairs reminds me of when you tumbled down them with Ben in your arms. You were both ok (besides landing on your shoulder) but we never fixed that hole. Your basket on the buffet that contains your wallet, government ID and your everyday stuff you would take with you to work remains in the same spot. I drink root beer now because you did. Your car still sits in the driveway….I have no idea when they plan on picking that up. Apparently it’s not a priority to them. Now that it’s spring I’ve taken to mowing the lawn and I have a strong drive to get the front garden mulched and have the house looking good because you would want that. I got our taxes done. I did cry in the office even though I fought back the tears as much as I could. I need to learn to balance the hot tub but I’m not sure I will even use it. Your picture from the memorial service sits in the kitchen on the buffet and it feels like you are right here with me but you don’t answer when I talk to you. I really, really miss you. I’m still going to bed early. I can’t watch any of the stuff we DVR’ed to watch together. The recordings are still scheduled and I’m sure the DVR is full but I can’t seem to stop the scheduled recordings yet. But on the surface I try hard to play it cool. Like I have things together. But I don’t.