366 Days

Three hundred and sixty-six days have come and gone since we took you off life support.

I’ve had so many firsts and one year marks that I’m sorta numb. My first birthday without you. The one year since we last spoke on the phone. The one year anniversary of the stroke. Your first Birthday, after you died. The first anniversary of removing your life support. There are just so many moments like that.

The oldest boys, plus Joey (I hear you laugh) were here Christmas eve and Christmas day. We spent our first Christmas without you, together. We made your fondant for the first time, without you.

I feel invisible in this world you left behind. I can say something to Mr. Y and it’s like I am not even in the room with him, like I don’t exist in his world. My feet want to run, but my heart knows if I do, I will never see him again. So I am starting to ask myself if that is so bad, or OK? I mean, he’s NOT feeling me, so why stay?

Still, no major life choices while feeling…this.

I miss you.

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