I cleaned out our closet this weekend. I'll be honest, it was not an easy task, but then I didn't think it would be. I guess it was time though because anytime I would open Bill's side of the closet and look at his clothes hanging there it made me feel awful. I left two shirts hanging up. One that he was wearing the day he died and one of his favorites that I (stole) wore throughout my last two pregnancies. Oh, and I also left the sweater that I knit for him last Christmas. Someday, I'll use all of those shirts and pants and even the ratty old bathrobe to create lovely quilts for each one of the kids. All those old-man clothes that perfectly suited Bill, shoved haphazardly into boxes. I felt like throwing up afterwards.
I'm feeling pretty sad now. I just want to bury my head underneath the covers of our bed and stay there. I want to sleep because when I'm asleep I forget. And Bill is still with me in my dreams. But I can't sleep or stay in bed so instead I work. From sun up until sundown, and even then sometimes I don't stop. When I'm busy I don't think. Frankly, I'm so tired of thinking. Thinking about what I regret, what I lost, what my future holds, what to do with the burden of responsibility I bear. I think about being alone. I think about a lot of stuff. Too much stuff.
I wonder if I'm really living or simply existing. I think I'm just existing right now. That's probably okay too. I'm fearful that "simply existing" will become my only reality. Almost like a bad habit that cannot be broken. I feel old. I feel like I've lost the sparkle, the shine, the glitter that illuminated my life. I don't like it, I tell you. Maybe I should buy a pair of those sparkly Tom's shoes to add a little sparkle to my world.
Yeah, so it pretty much sucks. I'm alone and missing Bill. I'm trying to make some decisions about our family's future and I'm doing it alone. I'm running hither and yon with kids and baseball and school and work and chores and I'm doing that alone too. I think I used to be fun.
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