My therapist suggested turning her photos down on my desk when I’m trying to work, just so I don’t see them constantly and so maybe I can focus more.
Yeah. Did that. Five seconds later I was on the floor bawling my eyes out.
Not ready. Put them back.
I can’t believe I have any fluid left in my body. Cried most of the day yesterday. Day 74. First new year’s without her. Still have 9 more months of “firsts” before the endless cycle repeats. Next up is first valentine’s (which we never cared about much but still), then the eclipse we’d been hanging on for years to see together, then her first birthday without her, then our anniversary, then the day she was diagnosed, then the day she was admitted, then the day she came home to hospice, the day she spoke for the last time, the day she died.
And then it repeats, endlessly, for the rest of my life.
Nothing about this is getting easier. Nothing. The further it recedes, the more enormous I can see that it is.
The grief just sits on me all day and beats me down like a bored bully. Over and over and over.
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