It has been a month today. Four weeks. So hard to believe. It seems like Richard just died an hour ago. I still feel the raw pain as if it just happened. And yet, so much has changed since that day, that it feels like it has been a year. But a month! Four weeks. Twenty-eight days. However you want to refer to it...today marks an anniversary. One month.
One long month. I still feel him in the house. Yesterday, while setting the table for dinner, I placed four place settings instead of three. When the kids reminded me I burst into tears. It just doesn't seem right to sit at the table with just the three of us. His place is empty. There is such a void. I think it is time to mix everything up and everyone sit in a different spot. I don't like the empty spot where Richard used to sit. And I don't want to start eating in the living room. In front of the TV. That would be so easy to do. It would fill that void. But I think family's should eat at the table. I think kids have better manners if they eat at the table. I want to hear about their days. Without the TV interfering.
I don't wash clothes everyday either. It is strange how losing just one person changes the way that everything is done. His loss touches every area of my life. The grocery shopping. My routine. Eating. The laundry. All of these things are not things that I thought about before. What I did think about was that his absence would be great. And it is.
I don't think everyone else misses him the way that I do. I feel like everyone but me has moved on. I wonder if there is a proper time to grieve. I wonder how long it is acceptable to keep crying. I feel guilty every time I cry. I feel like people are looking at me and thinking "she needs to move on. It's been a month, for goodness sake." I know that people aren't saying that. I am sure no one is even thinking it. That is what, I think, is bothering me. That no one is any longer thinking about him. Remembering him. He's just gone. It's like he moved away. He is somewhere. I'm just waiting to hear from him.
I know that this blog is no longer very interesting. Maybe it never was. It was all about Richard and my life. My hard life. What a whiner I was. I have read over some of those previous posts and I would go back to all that whining in a heartbeat. In a New York minute. If it put him right back in that hospital bed, right here in my living room, I would go back. I have thought about making my blog private for a time. Then all of you wouldn't have to keep finding the right things to say. I know that you are getting tired of telling me how sorry you are. Hell, I'm getting tired of it. I try to find other things to write about but all I can think about is death.
Tomorrow will be another day.