I'm here in Kentucky for the week. I miss you so much it hurts. I keep wanting to pick up the phone and call you just to talk about the little things. How much snow there is outside, how Sam, their dog, is finally warming up to us. How I can't wait to get back home, and how I wish you were here. I am so sad I can hardly breathe. I read all the posts from people who are grieving online and they are all pretty much the same. No hope. Sometimes in my darkest times, I think it would be better for the kids to stay here and for me to go. Go where? Why am I here and you are gone? I was always the one in my mind who would go first. This just isn't fair. Then I think about that mess of an office of yours and the garage, and how I would hate it for you if someone else had to go through it and clean it up. This gives me a little bit of a purpose. I figure I can sort through all of that mess, and then I'll see.
We might move to Kentucky. I don't really care. I just don't want to go back to crying on my lunch hour because I am all alone. Although, honestly, I am alone here, even with people around me. Alone and cold. I don't think I will ever be the same again. I miss you.
I keep replaying our last couple of weeks together and how horrible December was for us. I remember how you took me out to brunch on the Sunday before you had your needle biopsy so I wouldn't be angry with you anymore. You were right to do it, and you were so sweet. We needed for us to be together and it worked. I still wonder how long you had been gone before your body actually stopped working. I think you had been gone for awhile. I could tell you weren't there anymore and so could Donna.
I love you and miss you.