Sometimes the reality of him being gone, it just smothers me. I fall into a routine and everything seems relatively normal.
Until the permanence hits me. Once again I remember is not out of town, at the dentist or at work. He is not coming home. This routine is forever. This alone routine. And I weep.
There are other times, however, when something random or minor will set me off. Over the past week, here are some of the specific instances that cut me deeply enough to scar.
“Runaway Train” sang through my radio, reducing me to a blubbery mess in my car. Why? Was it ‘our song?’ Certainly not. Was it a favorite of his? Nope. There is no reason this song should have pulled such a response from my heart.
A character on The Last Man on Earth gave birth.
I said that Chris Pratt was nice looking, and K instructed me to NOT MARRY Chris Pratt. I almost died laughing,, glowing with the K’s adoration that he would even see that as a possibility. He continued, “Don’t marry anyone else ever, OK mom? I don’t want another dad. I had a dad and he was the best dad in the world and I don’t want a replacement.”
Shadow on American Gods packed up his dead wife’s belongings.
I saw an ad for The Gunslinger. I loved those books, and waited for years to share them with my non-reading husband. This would have been amazing.
I realized we kept meaning to go to a Supernatural convention.
I found a stack of papers with his handwriting on them. One had his signature.
I revised my will.
I took my child to an Occupational Therapist. Alone.
I took my kids to a pro baseball game. With my parents. The other kids there all had dads with them.
I realized Mother’s Day was coming up.
I saw the Anne Hathaway episode of Lip Sync Battle. Again, no reason for this to spark pain. I have no idea why her lip syncing to “Wrecking Ball” would make me cry.
I saw someone smoking.
I watched the second episode of American Gods. I laughed and applauded at this stunning adaptation of one of the few books we both read and loved. I cannot say enough about this show. Trey would have loved it. We would have watched every episode together multiple times. I cried my way through the entire episode, through the laughter and applause, the tears and sobs.
I thought about getting rid of that horrible Scarface poster above our bed. I hated that thing from the moment he brought it home. This is the kind of thing that happens when your husband arrives at your new apartment a week before you get there with the rest of your stuff. He buys a ginormous Scarface poster and hangs it in the living room. Throughout the years I’ve managed to get it shuffled off into the bedroom. I could now get rid of it. But now I won’t do that. I’ve gotten rid of acres of his things, but not that thing.