It is a constant buzz in my chest. It never stops.
I've never had this feeling before.
I guess they call it stress.
They say that loosing your spouse is the highest stress factor someone can experience.
Who are they and how dare they say anything? What do they know?
I sit for hours on my front porch on one of the two matching rockers we have.
We were going to put the rockers on the porch of our new home.
The home that was going to look out over 12 acres of beautiful land.
That was our dream for the future.
The land is for sale.
That dream is gone. It died on August 11th.
I don't have a dream for the future now.
Dreams are for young and silly people. People who don't know that life can come crashing down in a moment.
I am not young and silly anymore.
So I sit and rock. Mornings turn into afternoons. Afternoons into night.
Sometimes in the middle of the night I wrap myself in TBHITW's warm blue robe (the one I sleep with) and sit out on the porch and rock. All alone.
During the day people walk by with babies in strollers. Husbands and wives and children and dogs.
They don't see me sitting here on one rocker, an empty rocker beside me.
Maybe I'm invisible.
I have found the perfect diet.
Fifteen pounds lost in 5 weeks.
It's that motor that never stops.
It's the buzz in my chest that won't quiet down.
It makes my hands tremble.
My hands never trembled before.
I read TBHITW's autopsy report.
It was obscene and disgusting and I don't think anyone should ever read an autopsy report of someone they love. Ever.
I cried for my beautiful husband's body and the indignity of it all.
I cried for me.
I cried for us.
I shouldn't be driving a car.
Everything startles me.
And mostly I'm scared - all the time.
Of everything.
I had TBHITW's cell phone service cut off. Now I don't even have his voice.
And I'm afraid I'll forget what he sounds like.
But I have to be practical, right?
Dead people don't need cell phones.
I sleep (when I sleep) on his side of the bed. On his pillows. I guess they are my pillows now.
I am going to cook tomorrow night. Maybe I'll eat too.
Maybe not.
Maybe I'll just cook.
Apples.
Apples are coming into season.
Fall was his favorite season, and winter.
We always went apple picking. And I'd make pie.
And applesauce.
And apple crisp.
And spiced apples.
And we would buy cider donuts and drink apple cider before going home with our bushel of freshly picked apples.
Last year we went apple picking late in the season. There weren't that many apples left on the trees. But we picked enough.
We always had enough.
I think maybe the colors of fall will be hard to look at this year. Too vibrant. Too real.
That's how I am doing...
