the week in grief
the hardest part is being at home. walking in the door and being met only by signifiers of absence. no hovering when we make dinner, no couchmate when we sit down to bad tv, no breathy trundle up the stairs at bedtime. we've been in the habit of calling to him, as if he were there, in present tense "come on buddy". we recognize that this may seem nuts. we're fine with that. we light a candle each night in front of his picture.
we eat without appetite. we go to bed exhausted and wake up exhausted. the thin patina of enthusiasm we manufactured for going to work (before he died) is long gone.
our house feels enormous, almost obsenely large. we are suddenly surrounded (burdened) by things we do not need. things we did not ever need.
pockets of acceptance drift in, sit, recede. we are at their mercy and can only hope the next iteration drifts in more quickly...