People ask me all the time how I'm doing. My guess is that they don't want to know the real truth. They ask so as to be polite. But they don't really want to know. So I tell them that I'm okay, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
And the truth is that I'm doing awful. Shannon's been gone for about 6 weeks now, and he was in the hospital for two weeks before that. It's been two months since he's been here where he belongs.
I miss him almost every minute I'm awake. And he invades my dreams, so i don't get a lot of sleep. I usually wake up when I start dreaming about him.
And then, the realization sinks in, yet again: he's gone. My bed is empty except for me.
I used to be able to sleep, even though he was snoring. It let me know he was there, so I'd curl up around him and let him lull me to sleep.
No one who asks me how I'm doing wants to really know much of that. Except maybe my mother. We both have dead husbands, so we have a lot to talk about. She knows what it's like.
Only the people who have a dead spouse or partner understand or care to any great degree.
They don't understand how hard it is to move forward, pick up the pieces and try to start over.
I don't fault them. Many people don't know how to even address the topic. It's too scary a place for them to go. They're so afraid of death that they don't want to admit that it really happens. But it does.
I will die one day. As will all the people that I care about. I know that. I'm painfully aware of that simple fact of life: it will end some day.
I'll go on until it's my time to check out and finally get a good night's sleep.
I could use one these days.
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