Crying

Dear Dazzy,

If tears could be recycled into energy, I could have lit up half the planet over the past two days. I have had non-stop waterworks Tuesday and Wednesday. I mean, I always have a little tear here and there, but usually I keep it in check and my grieving does not hang on me like an addict and his monkey, know what I mean?

I have a sneaky suspicion that it is an early Valentines Day wave of sadness.
I mean, I cannot go anywhere without seeing red hearts and flowers and balloons and cards and candy and stuffed animals and lingerie and perfume and jewelry and champagne and wine and

OMG, STOP!

It comes in email-reminders from the florist, in your MSN calendar, in ads on TV and radio and print. I used to revel in the holiday. I would bake and make cards and put silly notes in your lunch and we'd do all kinds of fun stuff.

Now the day seems cruel by its very existance.

I managed to buy the kids cards two weeks ago. I didn't loose my mind this time and buy you one like I did at Christmas; surely this is a step in the right direction-woman crazed with grief is a bit less crazy now, non?

I kinda know how this thing called grief operates within me.

Near to a "special" date I get all weepy; I don't fall apart anymore, I just cry my heart out-again.
I get a bit slack with the housework (it's not yet a going-on-Oprah-kind of pigstye, though, don't fret) and I get very wistful for what was and what will never be.

I write/blog a bit and slog through some bad TV, walk the dogs and eat peanut butter snadwiches for dinner. I take a shower and go to bed early, happy for the relief that sleep brings.
Eventually "the day" arrives, it leaves, and I pick up the pieces. I always go on, even though I find it pointless some days, because I do have that tiniest bit of optimism that something good is around the corner.

So now the day I wait for is a day celebrated for its ties, however loose they may be, to love.

I still love you with all my heart. I like to think that wherever you are, you still feel the same about me. I try and trick myself into thinking that we are just separated by a man made invention-time. Joan Dideon coined the term "magical thinking" in reagrd to her late hubby,and now I truly understand what she meant by it.

So tonight I am going to go wash the dishes and put away some paperwork and steel myself for another day without you, my love. I know I can do it-hell, I've been doing it for 40 weeks now-it's just so damn hard some days.

Love you Dazzy. Always.

Kisses, Wifey