One year. I’ve been without him for one whole year.

I’m still breathing. I didn’t really expect to be, and truth is, didn’t want to be. Don’t want to be. But here I am.

The day itself hasn’t been as bad as the week before. The Tuesday and Wednesday before may as well have been day one. Or maybe day four. I don’t remember days 1-3 except in bits and pieces. I remember all of day four.

I think my mind is starting to absorb, accept? I have fewer “shock” remembrances. It’s become more of a deep abiding sorrow. I could weep any minute of any day. But I mostly don’t.

Now I’m just treading water. Waiting for something to happen. For him to come back? For me to die? I have no idea. I just feel like I exist, only exist.

I enjoy Beau when he’s here. But I don’t think about him a lot when he’s gone. I love him very much, but I can’t build a life around him. I don’t know what to build a life around. So I wait. Just wait.

I plant flowers and veggies. I weed flowers and veggies. I cut flowers and veggies. I water. I plant more, weed more, water more. I visit the hill daily. I watch birds for some sign that they are him. I eat supper Mama fixes. I drink an Arnold Palmer and two beers and play Wordscapes. I go to bed and start all over.

Waiting.