Today, in my “memories” on Facebook, where it shows all of the posts you’ve ever had on this same date, from previous years, I had a status from 2009, less than a month before my husband died. “I get ready for work so much faster when there’s no one around to pester. It’s kinda lonesome, though.” Sawan was out of town, fishing with my Dad, I think. He was not a morning person, and hated it when I woke him up as I was getting ready for work. So I of course woke him. Every day. If I had only known. Less than a month later I’d be forever lonesome in my morning ritual.
It’s that time of year again. I used to love summer, and now I merely survive it, especially the brutal 7 or 8 weeks between our wedding anniversary, July 1st, and the anniversary of the day he died, August 24th. His birthday is thrown in there on August 2nd, just to really make it hard. It’s been almost seven years since my husband died but as the days get closer to the same length as that hateful day, my body remembers, and even though so much time has passed, it’s still hard.
I walked through Costco tonight. The Halloween costumes were out. It’s been a long time since an image like that has made me cry, but suddenly my eyes just leaked. Will I ever get to have a little person to put in one of those? It’s looking more and more like the answer is “no.” On days like today I grieve for the loss of the life that I thought I was going to have.
Most days I’m ok. Most days I remember that I’ve found my new normal. I even have found a way to enjoy myself again. I laugh a lot. I don’t feel sad every single day. Not even in this gross 8 weeks.
But today, I’m just not that ok. I long for the days when I thought that one morning without him was too hard, and when I still believed that it was my destiny to have a small, costume-clad person holding my hand.