I feel remarkably like myself most of the time. Granted, it’s a self that tears up or loses her patience much more easily than usual. But really, so far I’ve been feeling okay, peaceful, philosophical, faithful. I’ve been wondering why there isn’t more.

Oh, there’s more. It’s in there. I feel it when I suddenly find myself on the verge of screaming, and mad as hell that I can’t just do it when I want to. I feel it when I think of all the funny and wonderful things that could have happened and should have happened and won’t. I feel it when I find myself thinking, Did Mikey ever comment on the new furniture/ the paint/ my highlights/ Zoey’s Christmas dress/ etc.?

This didn’t get much play in my mind before Feb. 1, 2006. And it matters now because…? Actually all sorts of things matter now. A container of applesauce in the pantry is suddenly very imporant because we bought it before Mikey died, when we weren’t so lost. A trip to a familiar restaurant feels a little like a betrayal, because last time we were there, life was so much sweeter.

I keep wondering if Mikey would have liked this or that, how how he’d have laughed about whatever thing I just read or saw on TV. And since Mikey appreciated A LOT of things, I end up thinking these things all the time.

The anger and pain and injustice are, unfortunately, in there. I will not win any trophies for being the Best Bereaved Ever. I pity whoever is with me when this all finally reaches the surface. It will probably be most inconvenient and unpleasant. [sarcastic grunt]

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