It’s official, it’s been a month. I can’t believe it’s been so long, on the one hand. It still hurts like–well, the first few days were pretty numb. It still hurts like the first week, though, definitely.
On the other hand, it feels like I’ve felt this way forever. I can understand how perfectly sane people talk themselves into suicide. The pain just goes on and on, and the emptiness stretches as far as the eye can see.
It STILL catches me by surprise. Today I looked up from a mind-numbing period of stuffing envelopes, and smiled at his picture. And tried to remember how long ago he’d called, how soon I could expect him to call again. And it hit me.
I liked to tell him things he didn’t know. Like bringing home treats for your love, I liked to surprise him, amuse him, make him think. Yesterday I saw Steve Irwin (the Crocodile Hunter) wearing a blue shirt. I’d never seen him wear anything but khaki. So I made a note to tell Chris that Steve looked good in blue. And I remembered.
Last night I learned that my stepsister’s husband died last week, of a heart attack. They’d been married something like twenty years. And it hit me, that Terri is probably in a hell of a lot more pain than I am right now. Then I wondered how that could be, how anyone could hurt more than I do and not spontaneously rip open, spilling agony everywhere.
I wonder how I have managed to not rip open.