My room is dark, my eyes are closed. My mind is somewhere between sleep and awake. The hour is early. I hear breathing, feel little puffs on my neck. Naturally, I swing my cold over feet to the other side of the bed and feel NOTHING. No long legs, no big feet, nothing there to keep me warm.
I remember. It was not a dream. Cancer came and despite the hard fight, it won and WE LOST.
In his place are memories, and two small kids that are half him and half me.
Six months of an empty couch that is now too big for a smaller family.
Six months of an empty chair sitting at an incomplete table, and mindless conversations at meals.
Six months of buying less bread, bananas, peanut butter.
Six months of only one dirty coffee cup and no HUGE shoes to trip over on my way out of the door.
Six months of bills, appointments, and having to make every single decision.
Six months of very little laughter, and no more dancing.
Six months of not hearing, “You’re beautiful.” “You’re my one and only.” “I thanked God for you today.”
Six months of fewer hugs, and even fewer kisses.
Six months of waking up cold, because there’s no one to put the extra blanket on me as I sleep.
I. MISS. HIM.
Six months of me fully understanding that there’s more to marriage than laughter and love.
It’s been six months, with a lifetime left to live without.