Thirteen days

This time two weeks ago, Matt had gotten home from going to lend his friend some DVDs and we were in bed watching Hamlet. Everything was so normal.

Most of today had been ok. By “ok,” I mean that I’ve felt slightly hopeful about my future but I’ve also been distracted by the beach and reading and crocheting and people.

Right now though, the hope has faded into faith that I’ll be ok. I miss Matt so much. I never wanted to be with anyone else – Matt was the only one. Still is for that matter, which is so much in conflict with my yearning for the love which so abruptly disappeared from my life and my knowledge that Matt’s ashes are sitting in my kitchen. Matt will never love me again. I will have to find someone else – which I can’t bear thinking about but is also constantly on my mind.

I keep telling myself that I have to learn to take care of myself and love myself more – which is definitely what matt wanted me to do. Still, that can’t make up for the emptiness I feel going to bed or getting up in the morning. Or any other time that my attention is not diverted. I have always enjoyed my own company and being alone, but I think a big part of that was simply that I didn’t realize how amazing it is to be in love. When that love is snatched out from under your feet, to say that it’s destabilizing is just trite. For that matter, most of the things you can say about it are trite. Sitting out here crying is not enough either. Nothing I know how to do is enough.

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I'm a young, childless widow who is trying to figure out the best way to deal with the world in light of my late husband's suicide. It's harder than I ever imagined it would be, but somehow at the same time I am still alive and even happy sometimes.

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