I’ve never been less normal in my life.
Nothing is appealing – no food, no entertainment, no joy, no hope, nothing. I died when he died.
I try to comfort myself with little “nice” things. I like to sit in my recliner, under his big brown blanket (it’s really burgundy; he always called it brown). I like to cuddle up in it, turn on the TV and zone out. Except I don’t.
Last night, I watched America’s Got Talent. Rick hated AGT and all the other inane shows I enjoyed as brain candy. In one scene, Tyra Banks reached over and ran her hands through Simon Cowell’s chest hair. I pictured Rick’s thick, sexy gray/white hair peeking out over the V of his shirt. I will never be able to run my fingers through it again. I began to sob.
I want him back. I need him. My heart is broken into tiny bits.
Sunday, I decided he wouldn’t want me to be this zombie, this dead woman just existing and performing her duties mindlessly, daily. I decided Rick would want me to eat my low-carb lasagna on the deck in the beautiful summer-like weather. For added enjoyment, I took out a fresh bottle of red wine – from the cases I have left from his memorial “celebration.” (Oh, how happy he’d be to see those cases of wine in our basement!)
I cleaned the table on the deck. I took out the food, a crossword, and the wine.
He wasn’t there to chat about the day, or make observations about the quality of the wine, or plan what we would do during the week, or just be there, next to me.
I want him back. I can’t stand this exile from my soulmate.
