There is no manual.

January is bleak at the best of times…only now it’s bleaker than I ever thought possible. I wonder how I’m going to get through this awful, horrific time. I know I will, but I don’t want to. Words aren’t enough to express my thoughts. I veer between black humour and absolute fear.

My beautiful husband passed away on Jan 1st. We’d never been a fan of New Years, and now he’s really made sure I’ll never celebrate another! 

It’s not how I thought I’d react. People have been so kind, want to spend time with me yet I just want them to leave me alone. “Do you have people to support you” is something that’s now often asked. I have loads, yet I don’t want anyone else near me. I know when my mum lost Dad, she needed to be surrounded with everyone. I don’t want anyone. Mostly everyone gets on my nerves and I think I’m only trying to make them feel better. 

I’m fine. 

I’m ok. 

I’m good. 

I’m not.

I told him, I’d kill myself. I’d lay down and never get up. He wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not that easy to die when you’re breathing. 

I need to remember, everyone else is hurting too. But they don’t cry at the same time as me. Is there something wrong with me? What would it say in the manual? 

Probably, “Try to force out a few tears as it will make them feel better.”.

They’ll hug me at that point too. To make themselves feel better? Actually, their tears do make me cry, then I can’t stop. Where does all that water come from?

That’s the thing with tears. It’s not like a tap you can just turn off.  It doesn’t make me feel better. Just knackered. 

I went up into the attic to get my skis out for the son’s g/f to borrow.  I opened the ski bag…and there they were. His skis. He’ll never use them again. Bam! A tightening in my chest and a wail. 

You see, there is no manual to help you through it, even if you wanted it. There’s no manual that tells you how to change the different lightbulbs, jumpstart the car that hasn’t been used for months, clean out the filter on the washing machine, Rod the drains. 

There is no manual that will tell you what to do now, when all the plans you’ve made with him disappear into thin air. 

It’s now March. I’ve gone 10 weeks without seeing him. I haven’t killed myself yet. I probably won’t. 

Our son dreams of him every night and wakes exhausted. I’m jealous. I want to dream of him too, but I don’t. 

But I think of him for every second of every minute of every hour, every day. 

What do I do now?