Done Being Dead

Sometimes I wonder if I am ever going to get through the grief. I can go to work and laugh all day long and then come home and cry for an hour straight. I can also go a week without so much as a single tear trailing down my cheek and then come the new week, I can cry for an hour or two every single night.

I really wanted to run tonight. I still do. I can’t do it, though, due to the womanly state I am in. I mean, I could do it if I put my mind to it, but my tummy hurts. Still, I could take some Advil and be on my way. I had planned to run since yesterday. I’m not going to push myself tonight, though. I’m just going to stay home and relax and go to bed early, I think.

I cried for over an hour this evening. I just collapsed into a heap. According to the accounts of other widows/widowers, this is normal behavior a year and a half out. It would actually be normal behavior at the two-year mark. I put a lot of pressure on myself to cut-it-the-fuck-out.

It’s very difficult to miss my husband and best friend on a daily basis. What I know is that somewhere deep within my mind, there is a part of me that is still waiting for him to come home, to call, to e-mail and say, “I’m done being dead, Shneed! I’ll be home on Friday!”

My heart lept even as I typed that. Oh, what I would give to have that happen. I wish it could happen.