I still look for you in the grocery store, as if you’ll be in the next aisle, searching for cartons of milk or eggs. Sometimes I even think I’ve caught a glimpse of you, and I hurry after you, the shopping cart banging against my leg, until I lose sight of you. Once this happened and I began to weep openly, there amidst the frozen dinners and ice cream, my hands covering my face.
I want you back. I can’t sleep without you and I can’t wake either. I lie in bed for hours at a time, staring listlessly at the ceiling, sometimes counting every crack and crevasse in the walls. It’s only October. There are all these years, hundreds and hundreds of them, stretching out for miles. I can’t imagine how I’m supposed to survive them without you.
The day of your funeral I wanted to jump in your grave and lie next to you. I wanted to hold your poor sad hands in mine and cover my body with yours. I had this desperate foolish belief that I could stay there with you, but then the dirt went in and you were gone.
People say that grief fades. I’d be the last to believe it. God, I miss you. But I forgive you.