I cannot believe how sad I still feel. The weekends are the worst. I cannot sleep. I cry and cry and cry. I don’t think I was this sad when my parents died. I feel guilty about that. I try to stay busy. Why do I feel it strongest on the weekends – that was our time together. We were with each other every weekend, spent the night, ate breakfast in the morning. Every weekend, for almost 16 months, except when I was traveling – and then we still tried to see each other before the trip. The bed is empty on his side. I clean the sheets, buy new pillows, wash the blanket, trying to get rid of his scent, his being. The mornings are quiet. I make coffee. That was something he did for me every Saturday morning – made the coffee, either at my house with the grind and brew or his with the French press. He would bring my steaming cup to bed, with just the right amount of milk, and we’d lie there, naked, and talk. The mornings now are too quiet. I make coffee and try not to think.
Everything reminds me of him – everything. I throw away CDs and the things he bought me for Christmas, my fly fishing gear, the photos of us, the books. I delete emails – 230 received in the last 3 months alone. I delete his number from my phone, delete his email address, de-friend him on Facebook. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind – I would sign up in a second. Erase it all – the good and the bad together, because, really, the good is what hurts…or the memory of the good. A spotless mind, that’s what I need.