3 weeks. 3 fucking weeks since he died. I want to pinch the air and scream. Yesterday I cried for him because he will never pick out wine for me, and talk to me about wine or beer and what he loves about the latest beer he discovered. He would talk about a beer if he found one and tell me about it for quite a bit. Then if he happened to talk to my brother, or father or someone that “really liked” beer, he would tell them too. He did not drink too much of a good beer. He honestly enjoyed the beer and he savored a beer. sometimes he fell asleep too. I would find the half empty beer beside him but the best part is that I or he would put it int he fridge and he would drink it the next day. I have his beer kit downstairs, I have some of his beers he made. I bet they will be really good soon. I’ll enjoy them for him.
I can’t touch the clothes still. They are still laying at the end of my bed on the floor. I’m just leaving them there.
3 weeks, he was in the bed crying out with pain and he was having trouble breathing. I thought he was being silly. Now i know. I know what I missed and I will never forgive myself.
Finding a therapist seems to be a diffidult thing. Getting everything done while in grief is also hard. Have I gotten children insurance yet? no. Have I called the bank? no. Have I gotten trash pickup? no. Have I read my bible verse? ummm no.
what have I done? I have done homework with 3 children I have talked to friends on the phone. I let my dog in and out. I washed the dishes. I laugh at my youngest when she dances for me. I kiss my babes goodnight. I lay in the bed across from Anna so she can see me there so she will fall asleep. I listen to music that soothes my soul. I ride in car lots because it’s not death.
If I sleep all night it’s a celebration. Even if it’s to 4:30 am. that’s good stuff.
i miss you john.