I miss the having someone to share my day with.  The everyday, what-did-you-do, how-are-you-doing, what’s-for-dinner, and what-are-we-doing-tonight -ness of it all.

I miss someone walking in the door, right now, and saying, “this is all you did all day?  Wine and fudge for dinner?  Wait, why am I complaining?”

I miss someone sneaking out for a smoke on the deck, trying to convince to come with, that it’s not that cold, and oh look at all the stars you can see!

For that matter, I miss the distant smell of smoke in my bed every night.

I miss someone making feel sexy, making me feel like a woman, an adult, someone who can handle her own… and he loves her for it.  And feels the compulsion to buy her nice lingerie just because he thinks she’s worth it.

I miss the someone I’d take roadtrips with, here and there and everywhere, long and short.  The guy who knew what a Perkins meant, got excited for points at Super 8, and knew how to pack the car for a day on the road.

I miss the guy I had to convince to go on a cruise, and was so excited once he got there that he didn’t want to come home.

I miss having someone here on a lazy weekend mornings, teasing me into getting out of bed, cooking the world’s best omelettes every Sunday for brunch and finding odd TV shows I never knew existed but are highly intriguing.  And going to the bar later, or dinner, or getting together with friends…. Just going where the day takes us.

I miss everything about my life with him.  From his crazy job, to our nights at the bar, finding a new beer, our familiar haunts.  Coming home to him, texting him, cooking for him, sitting on the deck with him.  I miss going to bed alone and knowing he’ll be in, kissing him good bye in the mornings and leaving with the sight of his hairy chest in my mind’s eye.  Snuggling my nose in his chest hair.  Our simple routines, our simple life, our simple happiness with how we were living and who we were.  I don’t know anyone who’s ever had that – to me, it’s as unique and special as the first time you see a rainbow, or a unicorn.  Sheer and simple contentment in being… no pressure, no goals, just living and enjoying what we got.  It’s not the American way, but he was an American man – a patriot, a man dedicated to giving back, and intent on living his life the way he saw fit.  I’m so blessed that he saw fit to share his life with me.  It’d be crazy not to miss him, and it might be crazy to miss him forever.  But I think that’s just what I’m going to do.

Reminders pop up when you least expect them.

His job largely informed our way of life.  He was on the road as often as he wasn’t, and hotels were “home” if I was in them.  I’m watching all these news stories of the storms in Ohio and further east, and seeing on Facebook how many people’s husbands are heading out to get the lights back on (and a/c) for everyone who’s without power.  It reminds me why he got into the job in the first place – he always had to have a job where he gave back.  It reminds me how excited he was to get called out on storm work, how much he was looking forward to that call.

I suppose it reminds me how special he was – that he chose this career not many people can do, and those who do it give it their all.  It reminds me how characteristic it was of him to automatically do what was right, regardless how much he’d whine about it to me.  It’s one of my favorite things about him, this big, burly guy, quietly doing what needs done for the people he loved.

And I'm still so very, very proud of him for that.  I have to believe that he knows that.

One of the beautiful things about being an introvert... I love my time alone, and I'm deeply in touch with my self, my thoughts, and my feelings.  And when I get comfortable (or loopy) and start talking aloud to my "empty" house, I hear him respond.  And it makes me... happy. 

Happy to remember what we had, how much he understood me, and that I can still talk to him, in a certain sense of the word.

My life was good. I have a hard time getting stuck in this loop, memories, and remembering how good my life was. And I consciously think, “I miss my life.”

I don’t think that’s healthy. I think it’s normal – to me, my life is what I’d chosen with him, not what I have now (which wasn’t by choice). But I don’t think it’s healthy, because somehow I have to find a way to live in the here and now.

So I’m consciously trying to make this a “My life was good.” Maybe someday I’ll say “my life is good” – and I do have my days on the deck or at the cemetery where I look around and think I have a pretty great life. One of my fav places has always been the back dock of wherever I’m working – it’s easy to get out there, breathe deep, and remember how I chose this life – this career, that is – and it calms me to handle the crazy that is my job.

Do you know how hard it is to do daily living when you’re grieving? When everything from getting dinner to doing laundry to yelling at the cat you used to do with HIM. You can’t just do the laundry because it needs done – it’s a reminder of fighting over the laundry room, finding his undies in the dryer, and him surprising me with cleaning the litter box that resides next to the washer. Stuff like grocery shopping for one and meal planning for one sort of makes sense, since you’re no longer planning for that other person. But it’s the weird little mundane stuff that really drives home how alone you are, how much your life has changed.

And maybe, one day, I can look around my daily life and say, “Life is good.” For now, I’ll take those brief moments of peace and tranquility, when I feel at one with nature, the world, and the Greater Being. And I’ll focus on saying, “My life was good” because it was. And it’s unreal how good my life was and how blessed I was to have him.