One month. It's a landmark, a victory, a painful reminder. I don't know. I think the first few weeks, I was in shock. I lost time without knowing where it went. Now... not so much.
A month on. I still see things in the grocery store and think of him. There were purple flowers on clearance, and I reached to pick them up, knowing how amused he would be that I bought him purple flowers - on clearance! - before I remembered. I wake up and look at the clock and think that I have time before I need to go to the hospital. I start to open Avocado or take a picture or start composing a message in my head... And then I remember.
I hurt my foot, so I can't work on anything around the house, which makes me frustrated. But Th came over and helped me with the batroom. That room is fine. It feels safe. Maybe it's that it was always only mine. Maybe it's just that it's mine but different. Maybe it's that someone helped me do it out of love. But it makes me feel safe just being in there. The kids will be helping with the house, so I hope all of it will feel that secure to me.
Th has been over a lot this week, which I'm grateful for. More than anything, I'm incredibly lonely, and having someone to hang out with me, drink tea, and do nothing is reassuring. But she has commented that the house feels more mine, and that it's someplace that feels, to an extent, like "home", which I like. I want the kids to feel home there.
One month down... All of them still to go. I'll learn to carry it better in time. Now, I'm just going to be grateful for the help and company of my House. I really do have the best kids.
My mother has left for Kansas. She didn't say goodbye. She never called after he died. Not once. It's hurtful. She was widowed far younger than I am now, and she KNOWS how it feels. But she never called.
I'm grateful for a family that DOES care. I'd have long been lost without them.