I am tired of hearing our daughter say, “Appa died…”
I suppose I will hear it as it evolves with every stage of her development- over and over again.
Because I pass your clothes in our closet, it’s hard to believe you will never return to my house. Is it denial for me to want to keep things for you? To want to renew your domain name subscriptions for blogs you kept, water your cello, have your washed clothes in our dresser?
I feel like a broken record but I just don’t get this. It’s all still so hazy and dream-like. I feel like friends will soon tire of me- asking them if my husband really died, and telling them I just can’t process it. How many times will I have to question an empty room, “You died?” before I am able to process.
How many times?