Yesterday I realized that I no longer look for him when I come into my house.
Then I realized that I no longer suffer the near-constant pain of feeling like my life has a gaping hole in it.
Then I felt a rush of guilt.
Then I tried to step back and release the guilt.
It does not dishonor the dead.
Then the processing of the guilt over healing resurfaced my original grief.
It's nowhere near as bad as it was before, but it's still there.
I don't wallow in it.
I don't want to keep kicking it up.
But I never, never want to feel "okay" that he died.
Is not feeling a constant absence in my life the same thing as "being okay with it"?
I don't think so.
Every month that passes marks a reduction in the intensity of my grief. Will it reach a final bottoming out? Will I reach a place where peace and grief coexist comfortably and are stable? Maybe I'm already there. Over the past few days I've felt like I've reached the end of my formal grieving. If this were another time and place, I'd start wearing colors again.
But I still wear my wedding ring.
That doesn't change.
Losing him in the flesh was not losing him utterly.
It complicates things.
But some things remain simple, fundamental.
I am my beloved's and he is mine.
I can live with that.
I can live.