Sunday blues

I can already see that Sundays are going to be the worst day of the week; it was most often the day that all of us would be home together, working in the garden, cooking, listening to NPR. Yesterday was just like one of those days, except it was Mike’s mom with us from New Mexico instead of Mike. And that was great–she’s had a great time with the kids and vice versa. Mike and the kids and I have always appreciated and enjoyed her visits.

But it is so blatantly obvious to me, mostly, I think, that Mike is missing. We had a little campfire in the back yard and again I had this feeling, this knowing, that Mike would not have missed that for the world. In fact, he would have had his guitar out there and sung us many songs. I cried silently lying in the hammock thinking about this and about all the times I thought we would continue to share, but are now over and done. Finished.

I am missing him more profoundly as the days go by. It feels like someone hollowed out my chest cavity, removed my heart and part of my lungs. All I can do is cry and attempt to breathe when this feeling arises several times every day.

Similar feeling @ Day of the Dead; something profoundly missing. Oh yeah, my husband, the guy who was always there.

Thanks to all who came out.

Any suggestions on what I should do on Sunday the 18th (what would have been our 10th wedding anniversary) are welcome, though I’ll probably not commit to anything. I can’t see anything appropriate to do except maybe plant some bulbs and arrange some sad time for myself.