I got the book from the Caringbridge site today. I decided to print one copy, just to have in case anything happened to the site. I couldn't really read it at first, so I set it aside. Then I had to cover it with the newspaper. Scared. After walking Lulu I picked it up and again read the first few posts. They are so positive and hopeful even knowing the diagnosis. I was surprised that I didn't feel sad but rather curious and peaceful. Of course it is the begining and I was not exhausted, lost and confused yet. I am struck at the fact that no matter how hard David's dying was it was nothing compared to this after time. As long as he was still alive he was there, he was with me and we were in this together. It was so much easier.
It's later in the evening now and my day is over. I carried the book over to the desk to set it aside somewhere...it still scares me a bit...and then opened it to the day before David died and read those last few posts. Even then I was still so positive and hopeful. Shock probably. I am struck again by how much harder this daily living is without him. How as long as he was still alive we had our life together, whatever it consisted of, it was still ours and not simply mine.
I tried to cook dinner again tonight and, well, it was edible but not good. David's redbud tree came and it was planted up near the high barn. Micheal and the farm helper did it on Monday. Today was the first day I went to see it. It's just a stick in the ground right now with a few tiny leaves begining to unfurl, but it will be beautiful next year. I had thought we would put his ashes under the tree, have some kind of ceremony; but I kind of like that it just got planted during the working of the day. The hay has been laid down around it and is drying getting ready to be bailed. It fits. Maybe on the year anniversary it will be a good place to mark the time. I still don't know what to do with his ashes, but I am learning to wait until something becomes clear. There is no hurry.
Tonight it is 2 1/2 months since David died. I mark those Thursdays, every week. I wonder how long it will be before I forget to do that? When the marking comes further apart, months instead of weeks, years instead of months? It feels like it just happened and it feels lifetimes since he died. An odd kind of time outside of time.
I feel as if I should have something profound to say but I simply don't. Today was just a day, tinged with sadness but easier than the last few have been. Something that I am recognizing as the new normal. At least for now.