Missing you

Someone asked me yesterday how I was doing. I told them I was doing pretty well, and I truly believed that. I went home last night after work, finished the project I’d started in my kitchen, spent a little time with the girls outside while they tried to find the bunnies under the shed, watered my flowers, watched a little tv, and went to bed.

When I woke up this morning, I had this overwhelming sense of sadness. Sad because once again, for the 276th day, I’ve woken up alone. I went to bed last night without a hug or a kiss from my sweet husband. I left the house this morning without anyone wishing me a good day or kissing me goodbye, or hoping I make it there okay. And yes, I know my family hopes I make it to work okay, and I appreciate that, but that is not the point.

When your spouse gets ripped away from you it leaves such a hole that no amount of busyness, no amount of attention from friends and family will fix that empty space inside. If you’re reading this, and you are with someone, just imagine the last hug you got from your significant other. Was it this morning? Yesterday? Now imagine never being able to feel that ever again. I hope you never have to. I miss those hugs so much.

I know I sound like a broken record. I swear most days I am okay. But tonight, nine months in and it feels like only nine minutes since my Joe died. Grief is so weird. Days can go by, and life feels somewhat normal. Work, chores, bills, and even joy and laughter.

And then, like a freight train, grief rolls over you and flattens you beneath its tracks.