About a week before Michael died I had a very emotional day where he just didn’t remember anything I was talking about. Every few days I would sit with Michael and purposely recall our fun times. Sometimes I would show him pictures and he would laugh when I said something as simple as, “Remember when we….???” I wanted to keep our most precious memories alive to keep him going and to soothe myself. So many of those times were the best times of my life and we shared them so much…we loved our memories.

Over the course of that last week, he stared at me a lot when I talked to him. He didn’t do more than stare for days.

Finally, a few days before he died I sat with him with pictures and momentos and said, “Do you remember…” and he kept saying no. Our wedding? No. Our honeymoon? No. Riding our Harleys? No.


My heart sank. I felt that I was alone in my memories of some of the best times that any two people ever had. And throughout that last week I realized that my memories were of being with a wonderful, sweet man who loved me. That I could truly enjoy every experience. Even when I was alone or we lived apart I knew he was there and he loved me. And that made everything more enjoyable.

Over that last week and through most of the past two months, I’ve occasionally been buckled (as I’ve spoken on here) by the sheer power of just missing him. Of simply missing his presence in my life. Because he was a good and kind and sweet man and if I wasn’t married to him, I’d still mourn the loss of someone that great in my life. But I was married to him and he loved me. Like no one else ever did. Like I never thought anyone would or could. And I miss that. I miss it so very much.

This week I recognized the enormity of rebuilding my life. I went to my doctors and to my hand therapist and to work and even had a facial and went to my support group. All the things I tell others to do. And in doing so, I feel how huge the void is that I’m trying to feel and the wound that I’m trying to heal.

Two phrases “I miss you” and “I wish you were here” are the two phrases that if they pop into my head render me weepy. Today I had a meltdown in the basement, like I hadn’t had since the week he died. There’s just so much him there and still things that he left there as if he was going to do something with it the next day (things still in bags that he bought that day). I go through things in spurts but some things just sit because I can’t even look at them.

So I’m just missing him…that’s all…and that is where it is right now.