Tuesday Morning

I feel OK.  When I feel OK it is because I feel proud I am doing this, but also because I’ve forgotten how very permanent your absence is for a little while.  I don’t know how long it will take for that to sink in.  I will never see you again.

Every time I have a little time alone in the apartment like I did this morning…I get a few things done all the while talking aloud- telling you that you died- with curse words included.  This has become my routine.  It helps somehow.

I think about all of the plans we had and how simple it seems for you to just have come home.  I remember talking a lot to a friend who is a military wife when you were first traveling because she understood the dynamics- especially of the adjusting period every time you came back.  I thought and said then, “Well, at least I’m lucky that he’s just touring as a musician and not a soldier.  I don’t have to have that fear every day of receiving that phone call or someone coming to the door.”

Audrey and I continue to “remember Appa” for a bit each morning at breakfast.  There is a picture of you and her framed on the table, and she says, “I love you Appa,” to the picture – her own idea.  I wish you had heard her say those precious words- you never did.

She was only speaking a few two syllable words before you left- how suddenly and subtly that has changed- I often forget as she and I are talking in basic conversations that you never had this form of communication with her.  I am sorry for that- I know you would’ve loved it.  I can only imagine the silly conversations you and Audrey would’ve had.

This morning while I did breakfast dishes, we were talking about going apple and pumpkin picking.  She said, “Appa come apple pick ing!”  I turned and looked at her, and she knew.  She just asks sometimes to see if it’s possible at all I think or if anything has changed.  I sat by her and told her, “No, Appa can’t come remember?”  Lately if I tell her you died, she says, “Mama die?”  or “Audrey die?”  I’m sure she can’t process what this means at all- especially because she has no details.  This morning I told her, “His body stopped working- he got hurt while he was traveling.”  This is something the books on children grieving say to tell small children.   “Au drey bah dee top wo king?”  she asked.

I asked her if she missed you, and she said “ye” which means yes.

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