It's been so very difficult for me to even think about writing. I keep thinking I should be figuring out how to bring him back, trying to figure out exactly what to do that will prevent this from becoming a reality. I still keep feeling there is something out there I can do to turn back the hands of time and that I must find it.   The idea that this is reality has not crept into my vocabulary yet. I've not yet let go of the idea I will wake up from this nightmare. Each day that goes by blurs into yesterday - tomorrow is the same as today and today is just as painful as yesterday. I can hardly believe it's been almost a year of Eric's absence because I'm still expecting him to walk in the back door.

Each day that goes by isn't immune to the longing for the same day last year. "When Eric was still alive," I've kept saying to myself as each day presents itself and I remember what we were doing last year at this time - when Eric was still alive. I dread the day when I can no longer say to myself, "last year at this time."And the day is looming as my anxiety grows.

The Loss Continues - Unrelentless

We lost so much, but nothing compared to what Eric lost. I can't even begin to try to imagine what he lost - I can't go there for fear I may not resurface from it. Unfortunately, we're the ones left behind to realize the loss and try to live through it. Knowing how much he loved life and how much we enjoyed reveling in the way he demonstrated that love, sometimes feels unbearable. I feel I'm being robbed. Everyday when I wake up and realize my life has changed so profoundly, inexorably, and miserably, and all I have is to anticipate the measly paycheck from a job that's slowly robbing me of the memories, feelings and grief I so much want to work through. The distraction of avoidance and having to deal with the ridiculousness of the day to day activities of the workplace - a place where there is no humanity, empathy or understanding.  Where are their redeeming qualities. I even hate the very people that Eric loved, the friends that wore him like their emblem and then let him fend for himself when he needed them most, the people Eric would have defended even if he didn't know them. He was always defending the behaviors of others, never had a bad word toward anyone. Never gossiped. Now the distrust I wish he had of had even an inkling of, pervades me. And the numbness - continually creeping in and out so that my lowest lows mimic the bare nerve laid out, waiting for the irritant to remind it of the pain that tells it it's still alive and suffering.

Oh Eric, why?

When it began

When I started this blog I had every intention to chronicle the life I intended to create in the next few years as a gate that I could walk through to the next passage of my life. I thought I had more or less figured out what I wanted to do, what I wanted to concentrate on and what would give me satisfaction now that my children were grown and walking the paths they were creating for themselves. I felt I had the opportunity to redefine my happiness and take it to a new level for not only myself, but my husband as well. How fulfilling to begin to realize the life we would be living in our later years. With all that has happened and the time that has slipped by, I feel I have been living someone else's life - a life that was not supposed to be mine. Although it has been nine months since Eric's death, I feel it was just yesterday. The grief is still raw and I'm drowning in a sea full of his absence. I try so hard to normalize my life and the relations I have with others, but the facade is beginning to wear on me and sometimes my anger at how normal everyone else's life seems, makes my sensitivities to the things people say quite overwhelming. My role has changed and I want so much to get to the place where I can take all of the love I have for Eric and do something constructive and meaningful with it instead of just trying to get through each day. The depth of Eric's humanity, joy and lust for life is what I so desire to try and verbalize because at times those qualities have eluded me.  To write down those precious memories in black and white would, I believe, help me deal with his death and give something to those who knew him and loved him. Those he didn't touch will have no idea. Those who did bask the light of his life will know exactly what I'm talking about. What little this would be to give back to one who gave me so very, very much love, laughter and meaning.

More now than every I feel the need to concentrate on what will put me back on that path of redefinition, get me over this hill so the tears of grief will be fewer and fewer. The sorrow replaced by the memories of joy over the 24 years that he graced our lives, giving us so many memories, those memories I wish to share of my little family that have given me a reason to live for the past 31 years. It will be my way of keeping Eric alive and chipping away at the immenseness of his absence. I'm sure this is the medicine, therapy, and a type of spirituality I will need to give me back some meaning in my life.