This morning I opened my passenger door to throw my bag on the front seat and almost screamed the street down. The most enormous spider had taken residence in my car. My reaction was to march next door and ask Paul to remove it but in my panic I almost bowled over a stranger en route. “Excuse me … can you do me a favour and remove the spider in my car please,” I pleaded. The stranger happily obliged and then started jumping up and down because the damn thing wriggled up his shirt sleeve. Sweet Jesus. What a hero. I then proceeded to howl and howl and howl for the entire journey to work.
I still can’t quite totally accept, even though I thought I had previously, that my world has gone. I still almost expect him to come walking back through the door. It’s too painful to totally accept and I’m not strong enough. I feel like being reckless. I feel like booking myself on flights, never ending, till one of them drops out of the sky like a stone. I can’t do it myself, but I want it to happen to me. I just want to be with him.
Yesterday I went through loads of photos and pulled out many of Cliff, so that I can scan them and upload them somewhere, perhaps on here. I prefer to be at home even though I know it makes me worse, because I feel closer to him. I speak to him all the time. I am at work yet struggling to keep my shit together, really struggling so much that it makes me panic, breathless even. I yet again wonder if my sanity is leaving me. Sometimes I feel him near me, I swear I do … but never when I am angry. So I try very hard not to be. However hard I try I cannot stop the "Mea Culpa" syndrome returning to visit me recently. I excel at this, really excel. I just want that time with him back and I want to be a better wife this time round.
Yet again I am shocked at how physical grieving is. I miss him so much it is a physical pain. I ache everywhere. My bones hurt. My eyes hurt. My heart hurts. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be here. This is cruel.
And another thing, I hate the way it sounds like I’m whining, I hate the fact that there are a million “I”’s in this post, because all I think about is him, but when I write about it, it comes out as me, me, me … although that’s not what I feel.