I don't think that anyone who hasn't lost a spouse truly knows what it feels like to feel this way.
I thought I was doing ok. I thought I had done all my grieving the first two days when i was at the hospital, and when my mom and sister were here with me. But then starting Monday, I was composed, getting everything done this past week, just plugging away. I didn't even really cry when we planned his service.
And now I feel desperate. I know I have to be mommy first, but how hard that is. I want to grieve, yet I don't want to grieve. I'm in denial because now it setting in, the finality of his death. He is gone.
I feel like I am grasping at straws. Or an even better analogy would be that I feel like I am in quicksand, and not able to find a branch or vine to grab ahold of to keep me afloat. I don't know where to go to make myself feel better, to feel happy. I don't know how to move on from this tragedy.
Sometime this week I will be finding some counseling for the kids and I. Or a support group, or something. We really really need it.
And with the pictures, I had to move them last night. My sister told me it was OK. I just couldn't stop glancing at them. My eyes were constantly drawn in that direction, and it was too hard to look at him. So I put them all into a box, or out of my line of sight in this room so I wouldn't see then anymore. I feel incredibly guilty for doing that. I want him to know I still love him, but it's just too hard.
Today my in laws are coming again. We have two full days with them, and they leave early early Tuesday back to Pennsylvania. Today I have to clean out my husband's truck. It's being picked up tomorrow late afternoon. I'm sad, and relieved at the same time. I don't really want it here, but it's like the one final reminder of him. How can it not be? It's like the big elephant in the room that no one wants to mention, but you can actually see. This huge white kenworth is sitting outside on my driveway. It's an eyesore. It's painful to look at. But then again, I will be sad to see it gone because that means he is never coming back home in that truck again.
I've been told I should write a book about my experiences. Maybe one day. I think he would encourage me to do it, and be so very incredibly proud, but how sad is it that a tragedy like this has to happen to make the words flow from my head into my fingers and onto the keyboard.