2016-02-29 - 9:51 p.m.

Nope.

I miss my husband so fiercely.

My heart feels like a bruise. I can't get him off my mind, I can't stop aching. I long for him so intensely. I'm TIRED of this feeling, but I know that if it were to go away I would feel bad about that, too.

I just called a lady to come clean my home. I keep a fairly clean home but since Mike died I just haven't had it in me to deep clean. By "deep clean" I mean not very deep things...but things that require moving furniture and real expenditures of energy to get the dust and fur underneath. I have a couple of dogs who should be pink and bald by now, for all the hair I find in the corners and along the baseboards. I need that picked up...blinds dusted...surfaces dusted, those types of things. I just feel so overwhelmed and this, I think, will help relieve me a little bit. We live in a rural area and there is no maid service so I had to rely on a friend to recommend someone who would do a good job. I didn't much like inviting strangers in when Mike was alive to protect me, and I sure don't now. I feel vulnerable. This, though, is an older lady...a widow, like me. I don't feel threatened by her, though I do wonder how good a job she'll be able to do, if she's older. I might have to help her lift things...or, maybe not. I've never had anyone help me, and I've been doing it up to now. I don't know how old she is though. I'll feel guilty if she's markedly older than me, expecting her to do heavy things. I'll offer myself to her for extra help when it comes to moving things, I'm sure. It's a whole lot better than having to do it all myself.

I put colored lights on Mike's grave so I can see him over there, at night. It's comforting but it makes me cry, too. I just can't get over the fact that across the acres...there he lies. In the ground. The fact that my tall, strong, hug dispenser, my mate, my friend, my warm, cuddly love...is cold and dead...in the ground...just can NOT be true. IT CANNOT BE TRUE. ...But it is. And every time I open my eyes, it's still true. It just keeps on being true.

I stare at his hat, and I can't believe it. I look at any spot on the house or the land and I can imagine him there, doing what he was JUST doing...and I can't believe it. He killed wasps right there. He dumped dirt right there. He bushhogged, right there. Here's where he would pee outside when we'd be sitting in our rockers; he'd get up and go there because he was to lazy to go in and use the toilet. Here's where he planted my roses...mowed the grass...built my grape arbor...potted his little plants. Here's his grill. Here's his shed. Here's his axe...here's his Japanese maple...there's his grave.

I will never get over it. My mind just can't process it.

I'm gonna to go make a drink.

�

�

previous - next