Half a year

I drank my coffee this morning from a mug that Doug bought the week we went to the family beach house in Sunset Beach, NC. That was the week he proposed.

We were supposed to be at that house again right now - from August 15 to August 29. We planned the trip to have something for Doug to look forward to after recovering from surgery. We were going to revisit the places we went to that week, and revisit the spot on the beach where Doug asked me to be his wife.

That's not happening, of course, because he's dead, and I'm still (technically) alive. Instead, I'm on my couch, alone. Where I've been for the overwhelming majority of the past 182 days. Six months. Exactly half a year. Every day takes me further from the life I had with Doug - from any life, really.

The day after Doug died, I wrote this:

Y'all, I'm gonna get REALLY real here: I don't want to be here without Doug. I am pretty much willing myself to stay alive one minute at a time, because that's what I'm supposed to do. But I would be perfectly content for the earth to swallow me up right this second, every second that I'm awake (which is currently at 37 hours straight and counting).

People keep telling me that I am strong; I am NOT. What I AM is really good at doing what needs to be done and APPEARING strong. I am utterly and completely broken. I am quite convinced that I can NEVER be put back together. And really, I don't WANT to be put back together.

Six months later, I still feel very much the same, except that I haven't been awake for the past 37 hours. 

Why, though? Why am I still so stuck? I know other widows (know is a strong word - I'm talking about women in my Facebook grief groups) who are about as far out as I am, who are doing renovations to their houses, taking trips, seeing family and friends, making at least a little progress in living again... and I'm still on the same damn spot on the sofa, still crying every single day because I miss Doug SO MUCH. Hell, there's one (young) woman I know of whose husband died AFTER Doug, and she's already in a new relationship! Mind you, I'm not judging her for that - if anything, I'm a little jealous, even though I know it's way too early for me to even think about it. (Of course, that upsets me too, because, y'know, not getting any younger and running out of time if I want to have another relationship, which is really the only thing that would make my remaining time on this rock bearable.)

But who am I kidding? I'm great at being in a relationship, but I SUCK at dating. So the odds are not ever going to be in my favor there.

The grief group got together again last night (on Zoom, of course), and one of the women commented that I seem to be smiling and laughing more lately. She's not wrong, but what she doesn't know is that I seem to be (unintentionally) putting on a happy face in those calls because I'm hosting them (I lead meetings at work a lot, and while you can take the girl out of the professional meeting facilitation setting, apparently you can't take the meeting facilitator out of the girl).

I don't feel much like smiling or laughing today.

I had big plans for today and tomorrow (I took both days off, because I knew that work-level functioning wasn't likely): I was going to get up at the crack of dawn and clean the house. I was going to cook Doug's favorite dinner (meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas) to have tonight, and drink a shot or two of his favorite Jack Daniels Honey after dinner. I was going to paint (very bad, "she's not an artist but passing the time is passing the time" painting, not like painting a room in the house). I was going to distract, distract, distract myself.

Instead, the tears hit like a freight train the minute I opened my eyes. And they haven't really stopped. Cleaning the house isn't gonna happen. Dinner isn't gonna happen. Painting sure isn't gonna happen.

Two people have already texted me today, hellbent on convincing me that happiness awaits me. I wish I knew what has them so convinced that's the case. I wish I shared their optimism. Hell, I wish I had even the tiniest sliver of hope that they could be right. But I don't, because they're not.

I think I'm just gonna go back to bed and call it a day. Too bad tomorrow's just going to be more of the same. As will the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that; lather, rinse, repeat until my heart finally stops - and my suffering along with it.