Sunday is, by far, the hardest. I almost wish I could sleep through it until Monday. But then I would miss one day with the kids in the house. I am a mess of contradictions. I sometimes wish he had bowled on Sundays, or golfed in the summer. But he never did. He kept Sundays for us. And Sundays without him are filled with tears in the bathroom and hours of waiting for it to be a decent enough hour in which to go to bed.
I was in our room today. I don't go in there very often, except to toss papers, that I don't want to deal with, on the bed, put away clothing, grab an earring or two etc... Today I was putting some clothes away and my eyes fell upon the bed. I haven't slept in that bed since Saturday, August 25th, 2007. And I know I could never sleep there again. Stupid and silly? Perhaps. It is just I cannot sleep there without his arms around me. I cannot stare up at the ceiling fan and think happy thoughts without hearing his breath (or usually, snores) besides me, or the weight of his arm across my chest. I can't do it. I know this is probably unhealthy, but it is the only way I can survive. Avoidance of some things. While I stood there, I realized I hadn't changed the sheets since that Saturday. They were fresh sheets that Saturday. So I ran my hand over the area that his sleeping body had last lain, next to me. And I cried again over how very much is lost, how much I hurt, and the realization that this will be how it is.
I begged for you over and over again, Leonard, to just come home, come back to me. I wish you could hear me...and then I dread that you do. I don't want you to worry anymore.