The back is healing gently, I can walk a bit further each day, bend a little nearer my knees, and I'm managing with far less pharmacology, which is fine. I'm really tired, and that is not helped by being bored and trying to do too much, but that's totally in my nature. i slept for 3 hours this afternoon and woke up to the sound of much-welcome rain... I really don't want to have to take naps, seems just such a waste of the daytime
So, yes, perhaps life will be tolerable, and I may eventually not feel too disabled by all this, but that's a bit distant at the moment. I hate feeling needy, really don't want to ask for help all the time, and I get so very lonely. Phone calls and lunch-with-HB and emails are OK, but I really miss having a second person breathing in my space..
So, for you, my lovely man, so far, so very far..
It's almost 7 months since I looked around and found you had gone, between one breath and one not-breath, so quietly. I have found it so hard, I've been angry to the point of shouting at you so many times. I find myself in floods of tears from a tiny reminder. I know this is normal, but hey! it's not my idea of useful.
How dare you leave me with all this stuff to do! I haven't got time to do all your jobs as well as mine. And I'm sorry I wasn't more appreciative of the small stuff you did every day.
The shouting is a waste of time, of course, because you really aren't here. I have known so many people who left, but didn't really leave; a presence, however tiny, would be such a comfort..It seems that an afterlife is dependent on your ideas, not mine...
All I have is little piles and big boxes and stacks of unsorted Stuff, and handwriting. Everywhere, labels, notebooks with cryptic oddments and sad little lists and a whole big box of cards and notes and odd things you wrote to me over 30 years..
Enough. I'm feeling sorry for myself, and that won't do..
Sleep well
