I had to find my cheque book last night.
Which meant I had to open "his" drawer in the kitchen.
It's hard to describe because it's like comfort and pain at the same time.
His handwriting, his wallet, a dinky toy he found, blueprints, the hospital report from when he fell 20' onto concrete steps (which made me cry because the doctor had written "quite tired" and that was just so bloody typical of Cliff to understate how ill he felt), money bags, receipts, notepads, pencils that were shaved rather than sharpened ... and countless other objects.
Luckily I found the cheque book quickly and was then distracted by a humungous spider crawling across the floor, so my tears were wiped away to enable me to see properly ... so that I could kill it.
I'm getting quite good at killing spiders, but can't help the screaming. Although sometimes I don't scream and I wonder if that's because I know that no one is coming to rescue me.
I have to say that acceptance has brought me more peace ... and more lessons.
But the grief ... is harder. The pain, the loss is more acute ... clearer. It descends on you like a wave of lead, crushing you.
I let it crush me because I know that I will stand up afterwards and get off my knees again, time and time again.
He taught me that, you know? Never give up.