Yesterday I went to a Cracker Barrel (one of my favorite establishments) to work on my Chapter 13. For whatever reason, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the date on my watch. It hit me that the next day (today) would be exactly two months since my husband passed away. It was quite coincidence as I was literally there to work on a part of the chapter that would be introducing a new character into the narrative, who I decided to model after my husband.

I chose to put him in as a someone who has never once set foot into the story until yesterday.

I had realized on our writing road-trip (where I forced the inhabitants of the car to listen to my novel) that after a particularly scarring piece of the story it would be logical of my character to seek professional help. I knew from then that I needed to add that but have drug my feet since on getting anything written.

That all changed yesterday.

I was proud of myself. Even with the medication apathy I had been feeling an hour earlier, it all seemed to dissipate as I drowned out the sounds of diners and the 90’s country playing on the overhead speakers. I was determined and found myself curious where the story was going to take me; where my husband was going to take me.

When I had finished, I returned to my office to transpose it into my word document and it was then that I began to really, really miss my husband. In this piece I felt as though I had truly captured his essence. He would have made a wonderful therapist. He had this uncanny ability to sift through someone’s bullshit story to find the truth. The ember that started their “fire.” He did it to me all the time. I hated it. But it was because of this that he helped bring out the best of me.

Two months later the pain is less so. Sometimes I feel like a monster, that I am mostly fine with him being gone.

“Did he mean nothing to you?” I ask myself.

When I voice this fear I have had people tell me I had 4 years to grieve. It wasn’t like it was a surprise. We literally picked the day, for Swiftsake.

He would joke that I would move on the next day and find another partner. I don’t know if he did that to manipulate me into not even dating again or what… I know he was joking. However there is always a kernel of truth in a joke. He was so insecure. He thought he was so easily replaceable and he isn’t. No one will ever replace him in my life/heart. Ever.

Sometimes I genuinely feel sorry for Josh or any others that ever do come into my life, because they will forever live in his shadow.

A shadow which I still talk to, and say I miss everyday. Genuinely, everyday.

I like to pretend that he took over for my unborn brother as “my guardian angel.” At times I feel his presence around me. Especially when we’re in the car. I will not hesitate to turn “to him” and talk as though he is there.

People do the strangest things in grief.