Thursday
I curled up in Lev's room with his quilt. I stared at his hats, thinking that he won't wear them.
I often still sit downstairs, looking at the stairs, wishing Lev would walk down them again.
Wishing and waiting.
Maybe moving would be good.
My life has fundamentally changed, but much of it looks the same.
I feel disconnected.
I am bitter.
I am sad.
I am confused.
People think I am doing well.
They want me to be okay.
I am a good actress, perhaps, but I am lost.
Feb. 28
The intensity of the sadness goes up and down in waves. I feel myself sinking into a low part, and I have learned to value it. It is when I am most in touch with my emotions, when I understand that I need to stop waiting for some miracle, relief, or distraction.
I appreciate the deep grief, as it is when I feel most whole. Interesting that by physically sensing the hole left by Lev, I feel complete.
I watched a movie, Time Traveler's Wife, that I suppose was a bad choice, since it led me into a hour long bawling fit that scared Linga and Snowy. What got to me was that when the person died, since we was a time traveler, he had, before he died, gone into the future and met up with his wife and daughter some years in the future, so they could see him again, in their world. They had the joy of seeing him again, in real life, after he died, and giving him a hug. I so desperately want to see Lev again and give him one more hug. The truth, the true understanding that I won't see him again hit me with a clarity I am still walking with. My head is filled with pressure, with the physical symptom of the knowledge of the enormity of our loss. I know that I will lose this feeling for a while and go about our daily lives, but I feel closer to Lev when I have it.
