Seven weeks

I cannot, or could not, imagine living without you for seven weeks. Before you died, either of us being away from home more than a few days was a burden to the one still home. So much to do, dogs to wrangle, the little things of taking care of a home seeming to be overwhelming.

I couldn’t imagine.

Seven weeks without my husband. The love of my life. The old coot. The jokester. The cantankerous old fart that pretended to hate things, just so people would leave him alone. A man who loved to laugh and a good practical joke. The man who never knew what quiet meant. The big footed Fred Flintstone beast who inhabited my world.

God, I miss you.

Seven whole weeks. Punishment for me. A lifetime to go. The ache and loneliness can be overwhelming, even with people here.

They’re so kind. They’re so helpful. They keep me occupied. But they’re not my person. My man. My soulmate. The person in my life that knew my history, our history. The one who shared my adulthood. Who knew, and understood my fears, habits, behaviors, and oddities. The one who loved me in spite of them.

God, I miss you.

Today marks the one year anniversary that the final load of goats and dogs marked the very last thing to be moved from the old place. We have been here in East Texas all together now for one year.

Except, one is missing.

The main one.

The one who made it all happen.

The guy who single handedly got this farm moved. Drove the miles. Fought the truck. Lifted the loads. What a task you accomplished. And you’re not here to celebrate with me. Without you I have no reason to celebrate.

God, I miss you.

We talked so much before you died about what would happen to either of us if the other died. You said that you couldn’t do it without me, because I held it all together. As I sit here seven weeks in, I think you had it all backwards. You did the heavy lifting. You kept me prompted, organized, focused. You pointed me in the direction I needed to go, and I got stuff done, but look at this place! This shit that needs to be done.

So much work to do.

Not enough hours in the day.

No one to talk about it with when the night comes.

My strength was in you. My joy was in you. My comfort was in you.

God, I miss you.

Why can’t I force time back to that godawful Sunday? Start the day over? Keep you near me and with me for another decade?

God, I miss you.

Come home to me. The Lord knows that I need you, want you, and beg for you to come home. Why can’t it be so?

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