Silence can be Overwhelming #grief

Grief gets better. 

Not right away, but in slow increments that continue to surprise me. 

My kids took me to Disneyland last weekend. I laughed, screamed, shut my eyes as the rollercoaster dipped and ate to my heart's content. We were up early and out the door. There was no time to think, no time to grieve. It was good, but it was also bad. Why? Because I had to come home to reality. 

My sister-in-law shared with me that she put away all of her husband's pictures. She can't bear to look at them. Since I've been home I have considered the idea. It doesn't work for me. I need him looking over my shoulder, being the editor-in-chief of what I write. I need his closeness, his scent, his love, to keep me sane. 

He is my inspiration. He is my grouchy character, my loving character, my heart and my soul. I can't change that. We loved a lot, hurt either other, then came back round again. I wouldn't change a thing as each experience taught us the power of love. 

I smell his cigar smoke in the bedroom. Even in the car on occasion. He leaves me red roses in bizarre places and sends the finches when I need some up time. 

Oh, how I miss him. 

That shall never change.