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It’s almost been 2 years. Does it feel like 2 years where you are? It feels like yesterday that you left. I can remember everything from those last days in Hospice. I can remember that, but I can’t remember where I put my keys…. I remember walking a lonely road there. I remember our last two arguments, involving your dying, of all things. It’s been a lonely road since you left. I’m usually walking alone, since this is hard for most to understand. Why I can’t go certain places, for fear of losing it. Why I do things in a certain way, to keep myself from losing it. Why I choose to avoid conversations or interactions, so others won’t have to witness me losing it. It’s almost been 2 years, and yet sometimes it feels like it’s been a lifetime. I couldn’t imagine living a day without you. Now, I’ve lived almost 730 days without you. 730 days of telling myself I can do this. 730 days of putting one foot in front of the other, even if I only get as far as the other side of the bed. 730 days of wondering how the kiddos will wake up, and if I have the strength to fight through their grief. 730 days without laughter. Sure, our kids can make me laugh, but not laughter like you and I use to share. I miss little things that made “us” special and I have a void in my life where you use to be.  730 days of seeing the sun rise and set without you. I’ll always cherish our last time in the sun together. Sometimes I feel bright sunny days are mocking me. Endless sunny days.  All I want is for clouds to take over the sky to equal my feelings. I feel more content on rainy, cloudy days. I don’t have to pretend. 730 days since our children’s innocence was taken. I have held them deep into the night as they cry and ask questions I cannot answer. 730 days of you telling me you love me. So much has changed. I have a difficult time remembering before 12/21/2012. It feels like cancer rewrote history to only include itself. I know, in time, my brain will work itself out, but I’m not much in the mood for waiting these days. My compass wants to point forward, but it seems to drift to pointing to the bed. Sleeping makes the days less painful and the days go by faster.

I want to end this in some witty way, to let you know I’ll be okay. Unfortunately, I’m heartbroken, so all the witty banter is hidden away. This “new” normal we are living is painful and difficult, and nowhere close to normal. Maybe I want to feel normal again. Or maybe I just want to feel alive. A part of me died on that cold January morning, but maybe…maybe, the other part of me wants to awaken to a new dawn. You had hopes and dreams for our little family, and you wished for me to live life. I’ve been without you for almost 730 days and day 731 will be my New Year. I need to find my purpose. Find out where I belong. You made me promise I would move on, perhaps this is my soul trying to make me honor that promise.

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Comment by Preblehiker on January 30, 2016 at 12:48pm

I can relate to counting days. It's been 560 nights of going to bed alone and mornings of waking up alone, although I still talk to her as I drift off to sleep and upon awakening. Sometimes I even interact with her in my dream state.

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