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How Can This Ever Get Better?

on 21 April, 2018

Mornings are the worst. There is this fraction of a second as I am waking up that it doesn’t quite occur to me that he’s gone. And that everything isn’t broken.

Most of the time I just wished that I would be dead alongside of him. I can’t really understand or make it make sense how I am supposed to live without him.

I picked up his death certificate yesterday. Can you believe that they make you pay to get this? And the clerks behind the glass are so unfeeling and unkind. Again for the detective’s report at yet another police station. I am stiff fighting to get back the possessions when they carried him out of here.

If it weren’t for the myriad of drugs that the psychiatrist has prescribed, I’d not sleep either. Sometimes I wish I would never sleep again. Or always be asleep. My head hurts and I am dehydrated from crying constantly and it breaks my heart over and over to have to think about selling this house that he grew up in. You can see him everywhere in this house… things he did, things he said, places where he just ‘was’.DSCN0164Everything I did in the past couple of years, I absolutely depended on him for help. Sometimes it was because of my knees, sometimes it was because he was an excellence source of help but mostly because I just like ‘being’ with him. Just hanging out. He help maneuver my large quilts as I was sewing, helping me with ALL of the projects we did on OnMyCreativeSide.com, making dinner, running errands with me… just everything.

As I sit through these days realizing everything ahead of me, my brain can’t help but leap first to needing his help. And then, of course, realize that he is no longer around to help me. And then my brain goes numb trying to figure out how I am ever gonna make it without him.

Streeter's Mom

 


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