183 days….

Two whole seasons since you’ve been gone.  You’ve missed all of autumn and winter.
Just like in life where you got to live through your spring and summer and died just as  your autumn was sneaking up on you.

But at almost 40, I was  still in the middle of my summer when my dance partner up and left, dammit!


At times I think that I see chinks of brightness in life.  Flashes of happiness flit briefly by.  Sometimes I feel like I’m really on top of things at school.  I have a win with a difficult kid.  The principal sings my praises.  My worth is recognised.  Our kids do something wonderful, or just unbearably cute….

Other times, I go back to that first day.  To wondering how badly you were broken that I shouldn’t see you to say goodbye.  To crying that  there was nobody to cradle your head and sing to you until help arrived. To searching the policeman’s face, waiting for him to tell me that he’d made a mistake.  That it was somebody else.  That you were OK.

Back to where the ceaseless internal screaming started.

At times I think I’ve come so far since those first awful days, and at others, I’ve not moved an inch from that black pit of despair.

I miss you so much my body aches.

I love you so much my heart hurts.