It's been 12 days now since my life became all that lonelier, confusing and overwhelming. The texts and calls have stopped. And I understand. Life goes on. But mine has stopped. I have spent the last week emptying out the home we shared because the council want it back and since only his name was on the tenancy, I've brought everything back to my house. It's OK, I talk to Les and ask him if he likes what I've done when I finish tidying up a corner or put his things out.
If someone else tells me "at least he's not in pain now" I will scream. I know he's not in pain, years of fibromyalgia, spinal surgery and the last 10 weeks of his life fighting against all odds. I know. I was there through it all, praying to God to spare him the pain, to heal him. Holding him and crying every time I was told he wouldn't survive, only for him to fight back. I know he's free now, he can go fishing, have a new allotment, sleep uninterrupted from pain. But that is for me to say. What do people think, that I don't know? I know they mean we'll, but I don't need to hear it. Like I'm being selfish for not wanting him to be free of pain because it would hurt me. I don't need to be told.
Every moment I miss him more. Checking in on each other by text or with a call. His smile when I arrived home, his eyes when he spoke to me. I didn't say I loved him enough. I didn't let him know in words how I felt enough. I hope he knows, I hope he feels my love.
I've reached a stage of constant anxiety. Anxiety because I've lost one of the earrings he gave me. Anxiety because there are moments I don't cry and I feel guilty, does it mean the hurt is getting less? Anxiety because I'm here and he isn't.
Yes, life goes on. But it's lonely, so lonely. I look away when I see couples, I can't bear it. I look down when I'm at work because I don't want to see anyone. Les and I often talked about how lovely it would be to live somewhere remote in Brittany, how I wish I had that now.
I hate that life goes on, I just want it to stop.