It’s been one month since I lost my true love. (Well, it is one month as I write this, but it will be one month and one day by the time I post it). Where did the time go? How can it be that time moved so slowly while Ben was in agonizing pain, and yet moves so quickly away from him now that he’s gone?
The last month has been filled with the extreme of every emotion, from profound and indescribable sadness to overwhelming anger, with bouts of laughter and reminiscing in between.
I want time to stop. Every day that passes takes me one day further away from seeing his face and hearing his voice. I think about the fact that I am 45 years old, and God willing I hope I am only halfway through my life. But then I realize that one day I may look back and find that I have been without him longer then I had him. Honestly, that literally scares the shit out of me. I find myself once again in the helpless position of being completely unable to fix this problem.
In the past month I have been occupied with straightening out the banking. I really haven’t had much time to stop, and as I knock things off the list I find myself scared to be finished with it, because having everything in my name alone is one more step towards truly being without him.
I often fear that sanity is escaping me (not news for many of you). I am scattered and have difficulty remembering anything, including people’s names. (Anyone who replies to this post may wish to consider providing an explanation of who they are. Not even kidding). This week alone I showed up to an ultrasound appointment only to discover I was a month early. I then showed up at the Apple Store to find out I was 24 hours late. Today I showed up for another appointment at the Apple Store at 10:30, and was told I was scheduled for 4pm. I’m starting to get concerned that I will forget where I live. You may find me wandering the streets in my pyjamas trying to find someone to help me home.
Tonight I went out to dinner with Nancy and Jeremy. When Nancy first asked me to go, I almost said “no.” I thought about just staying buried in bed and keeping to myself, but then I changed my mind because I fear that if I hide away on every date that has any type of meaning to me that I will never leave the house again. And since I am already leaning towards being a 45 year old who spends more hours living in her pyjamas then my teenagers, I figured I should push myself a bit.
And so I ventured out to dinner. Neither to celebrate Ben’s life, nor to mourn his loss. Rather, just to “be.” It was a nice evening.
I miss your laughter, Ben. XO