I spent last night and woke up this morning wrapped in the warm, furriness of my Husband, it felt wonderful, comforting.
The manly scent of his body was intoxicating.
I was cocooned in his warmth and love and everything was good.
The manly scent of his body was intoxicating.
I was cocooned in his warmth and love and everything was good.
Touching him, feeling him, I had missed it so much and longed for it again.
I felt so blissful and happy.
I woke up on his side of the bed for the first time.
It wasn't him.
He wasn't there.
How do I feel?
Like the pieces of my broken heart have been scattered across the floor and have been stamped on by heavy boots.
My stomach is churning.
The worst feeling.
My stomach is churning.
The worst feeling.
One thought and one thought only has been going through my mind since Dr. Gemsa emailed me.
She didn't once say he WAS dead. Not once.
I know I am in denial and I need to accept the fact that John is dead. But I can't. I really cannot. His shirts are ironed, the wine is in the fridge and his drugs are all stocked up and I am waiting for him, he just needs to come home.
She didn't once say he WAS dead. Not once.
I know I am in denial and I need to accept the fact that John is dead. But I can't. I really cannot. His shirts are ironed, the wine is in the fridge and his drugs are all stocked up and I am waiting for him, he just needs to come home.
I really, REALLY want him to come home.
He has to come home.
It's not HOME without him.
I went out this morning with our friends Mark and Paul, we visited a garden centre and it felt good. I felt 'happy', I was doing something normal, something both John and I really enjoyed. Then I came home, walked into the bedroom and it all came flooding back in vivid, gut-aching, mind-fucking technicolour!
This acceptance of which everyone speaks, the acknowledging that the person you are madly in love with has died, that they're gone, they are no more.
How on earth do you do that?
Where do people find the will, the strength, the knowledge to wake up one day and say to themselves "I now accept that the love of my life is dead and I will try to move on with my life"?
How, how, HOW?! I don't bloody well want to move on. I don't, I don't, I DON'T....
Time is obviously a factor. I am obviously very aware that John has only been dead since 17th May, not even a month yet. However, there must come a point, a time, a realisation where I don't wait for him, I don't prepare, buy and sort things for his home-coming.
And to be honest, the preparation, the buying things, the ironing, it's all making me feel ever so slightly unhinged.
I'm feeling a little crazy.
The anger is still really close to the surface and I am struggling to fight the urge to smash stuff, destroy things, tear things to shreds.....it's bubbling underneath like an alien about to explode from my chest.
(Do not worry, the dogs are safe!).
Instead, I will go and make a cup of tea and have a peanut butter sandwich.
He has to come home.
It's not HOME without him.
I went out this morning with our friends Mark and Paul, we visited a garden centre and it felt good. I felt 'happy', I was doing something normal, something both John and I really enjoyed. Then I came home, walked into the bedroom and it all came flooding back in vivid, gut-aching, mind-fucking technicolour!
John's pillow....
This acceptance of which everyone speaks, the acknowledging that the person you are madly in love with has died, that they're gone, they are no more.
How on earth do you do that?
Where do people find the will, the strength, the knowledge to wake up one day and say to themselves "I now accept that the love of my life is dead and I will try to move on with my life"?
How, how, HOW?! I don't bloody well want to move on. I don't, I don't, I DON'T....
I WANT JOHN!
Time is obviously a factor. I am obviously very aware that John has only been dead since 17th May, not even a month yet. However, there must come a point, a time, a realisation where I don't wait for him, I don't prepare, buy and sort things for his home-coming.
And to be honest, the preparation, the buying things, the ironing, it's all making me feel ever so slightly unhinged.
I'm feeling a little crazy.
The anger is still really close to the surface and I am struggling to fight the urge to smash stuff, destroy things, tear things to shreds.....it's bubbling underneath like an alien about to explode from my chest.
(Do not worry, the dogs are safe!).
Instead, I will go and make a cup of tea and have a peanut butter sandwich.
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