Tomorrow will be a week. Tomorrow David's body is cremated. Today I started to sort through his things. Giving some things away, tossing out other things. Keeping a few cherished items. I'm not done, but I got a good start.
I feel as though I can barely lift one foot in front of the other. The nights are the worst. It is so quiet. Too quiet. I turned off the satellite tv. I never watched it anyway, but the sound was always there at night, as David loved his tv. All those cops shows, and the car shows. History channel. Stuff I would never pick to watch. But I heard it. And he was always saying, "Sweets, did you see that?" Of course I hadn't seen whatever it was, because I was on the computer or reading a book or doing some project. But I was there in the room with him and the tv. Now it is quiet. Soooo quiet. I could put music on, but every bit of music we own, David picked out. What I have listened to is worse than the quiet. Too many memories wrapped around each song. I'm selling the tv. I didn't watch tv most of my life, didn't even own one for at least 5 years before I met David.
Meanwhile, I try to slog thru the quicksand. In the quiet. I never knew how much this hurt for other people. I've never lost someone that I saw every day. Sure, friends and relatives have died....but those were distant deaths, I didn't live close to those people, I didn't see them, smell them, hear them every day. I haven't worked for 10 years. Spent a few years on the road with David, in our motorhome, going across the US. Then he had back surgery 4 years ago. Since then I have been with him.....24/7.....365 days a year. But I wasn't there when he fell forward and couldn't get up and suffocated. I wasn't there.