I was married for fifteen months. 390 days in a loving marriage to my super hero best friend husband.
Michael. Saying his name in my head, I can hear myself smile. I can see his mouth as he shapes his own name, introducing himself to people. As I watched him do so many times. No sound, just the visual in my mind.
That smile. A slightly wonky grin. And sparkly blue eyes that made you feel like you were the best thing he’d seen all day and the only person in the room that mattered at that moment.
Today we reach the same number of days since he died. One year, two months and 28 days. So much has happened without him around that I want to talk to him about. Get his opinion on. Laugh about, cry about. How slowly and quickly time has passed.
I felt a little ‘lighter’ after scattering his ashes, eleven months in. Some release perhaps? I felt even sadder, more chest pain, but lighter.
Then one year in, the “death anniversary”. I thought it would all get easier after that hideously noisy, numb day. All afternoon my mind jumped to where we were one year ago; the accident, the phone call, running through airports, finally getting to touch his hairline in ICU.
I think I now realise what all of this last year has really been about; survival. Keeping going. In a state of shock maybe?
Well I think the shock’s well and truly worn off now, even though I don’t think I ever had a “denial” phase. I fully accept that it’s real. But now I’m just So. Very. Tired.
I want the world to stop for a few weeks so I can just have a lie down. Sleep. Catch up on things.
But I must take comfort in the fact that, no matter how bad/sad/mad I feel, it changes. I know that it all keeps changing with time.
And I know that nothing matters other than love. And spending time with our loved ones.