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.

I have no content going into this, other than the fact that this morning I woke up missing my husband more than I have yet so far. I had a dream wherein he, tony, josh, and myself all went to see a movie in some “famous” theater. We didn’t even know what we were signing up to see but we went regardless as part of his “seeing it all before he dies” attitude. Josh and Tony sat nearby but not next to us. He and I took a spot kind of off to the side (because of his power chair) and we were at an odd angle from the screen.

Nothing else happened in the dream, regarding him. He could have almost been seen as a prop more than an actual presence. What I think triggered me was the inclusion of one of his friends there to visit him one more time before he passed away. I hugged the friend in the dream and then woke up. Dread cut through my chest like a bolt of fire. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to cry. For the first time I missed my husband more than I have yet. And each day I say, multiple times to myself, that I really, really miss him.

Lately I have been lost, trying to find what my life looks like without him in it. What is the new “normal?”

I’m trying to find it. Truly. I bought Disneyland annual passes to recreate my sense of adventure before he was ever diagnosed, and before the literal world fell apart with covid. That felt hollow and I ended up spending entirely too much money. I ended up feeling more guilty and annoyed than anything.

I’ve thought about going into theatre again, but I don’t have the energy to do it. Plus, they moved the one theatre I could participate in (I kind of ruined my chances with the other ones…) to the other side of town. Any show I could get a part in would require months of rehearsal… I’m not interested.

That’s the problem… I lack interest.

This past weekend I entered into one of my favorite writing competitions, the NY Midnight Flash Fiction. It cost $65 to participate but I like the challenge and the risk of wining the prize. I’ve only once made it to round 3, where I ultimately didn’t place in the top 3 to win a prize. This most recent one… I had to force myself to do it or risk having wasted the entry fee. In the end I pumped out a fun little story that made me laugh… I don’t know how it’ll go over with the judges. It was super “meta” as the kids would say. It was also mildly insulting if viewed through a particular lens, and on top of all that I didn’t do the assignment specifically stated in the assignment instructions. We’ll see how it goes…

All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Yet I can’t. I have to keep going.

This weekend was a busy one. I had event after event to go to and at the end of it I am genuinely exhausted. Mentally, physically, and (most of all) emotionally.

I had two events that were in-law related. One was a birthday and the other a celebration of life. I was happy to go because I do genuinely love my in-laws. I love them more than my own family, to be honest. The other reason I wanted to make sure I was there was to be my husband’s stand-in. I know I will never replace him, not in a million years, but I know it is what he would want from me. Nothing makes me happier than for him to be happy, even if it is totally up to my own interpretation.

The only downside of being at these events was that Charlie wasn’t. His absence was greatly felt. Especially from me. All I wanted to do was turn to him and make small asides about the family. They were all in good fun, but the inability to even that broke my heart and make me miss him even more.

The thing I’ve heard in the ALS LGBTQ group a lot is that this is the year of “firsts.” All of it is going to be something new and sad. I just have to power through with a smile and know that the one thing (I know without a shred of doubt) is that my husband wanted me to keep living.

Yesterday I made it back to Disneyland with the boyfriend. It was something we loved doing and did (monthly) prior to the great disrupt of Covid, and the subsequent diagnosis of Charlie.

My husband hated Disneyland. He hated the crowds, the rides, and the price of everything. So when I found someone to go with it was heaven. The one thing I would look forward to was going home and telling him all the things we did and show him the cool swag I bought that he would have hated or thought was tacky.

On the ride home I just felt sad. The phrase I repeated in my mind was “I miss Charlie.” I do…

When he was alive the moment I left to go do something he’d wait 20 or 30 minutes before he would message “Do you miss me yet?” At the time I found it annoying and only slightly emotionally manipulative because how could I miss you when we haven’t even gone an hour without talking. Even a text keeps someone in my thoughts so I don’t really miss them if they’re still there. (I think that’d an ADHD thing by the way.) Now I’m angry with myself for not knowing what was to come and for getting angry. I wish I could tell him how much I really do miss him. And I am sure on some plane he knows.