Day 41

 

Today would have been a fun day with Mark. Packing up and heading to Gatlinburg for a week in a cabin with the son and his family. Mark lived for his family. He would have loaded the car this morning and run the dogs to the boarding facility while I ensured the house was ready for our return. I would have run the sweeper, swept all the floors, wiped down the kitchen, started the dishwasher and made sure the washing machine was empty. I then would have started packing the cooler so we could enjoy the first evening without a run to the market. Each of us did the tasks we had settled into over the years. A comfortable partnership knowing exactly what needed to be done and doing it. A team. US.

One of the hardest realizations I came to was that I was no longer part of an "US". After 18 years, I had been cut adrift. Alone to find my way. My partner, companion, lover and best friend of 18 years gone far too fast and too soon. 

Today, what would have simply been a busy morning was stress filled. Trying to remember everything that I needed to bring with me (I almost typed US automatically) and then loaded the car. On my own. Alone. Crying off and on through the morning as I wade through this huge "first". It's not that the act of loading the car was difficult. It wasn't. It was the fact that Mark wasn't here to do it. He isn't here to make the last walk-through of the house, making sure it's secure. The little things he did every time we travelled. The routine we had. The US. It breaks me all over again, setting off another round of "How am I going to do this? How am I supposed to live without him"? 

I have to finish loading the car, round up the dogs and get them to the boarding facility on my way out. I flick that "automatic robot" switch so I can get everything done and pull myself together. I'm not sure how often I will blog over the next week. I hope to be enjoying my family and pulled out, at least a bit, from this grief cycle. Wish me luck.


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