A thousand years ago

I remember a conversation Nick and I had, not all that long after we got married, when I said that I wasn't sure if we got married a thousand years ago, or the day before yesterday. I realize that now I'm at the other side: I'm not sure if he died the day before yesterday or a thousand years ago. I've been without him forever, yet I am never without him.

I always thought there would be a time that life became normal again, but that hasn't happened. Yet at the same time, it has happened. My life today is measured in ways and days that it wasn't measured before. But there's still days when I can't believe all the things that I do alone that we used to do together. There's still days when the thought of just those little things I do alone is overwhelming. It shouldn't be overwhelming to go to the supermarket. It shouldn't be overwhelming to throw out the garbage. It shouldn't be overwhelming to go to bed alone each night.

Seven and a half years later. Most days are fine. Most days I don't cry. But there's days when the tears come without warning, when for seemingly no reason a rush of memories come. I know the pain is not as intense as it was those first days, weeks, months. But I never realized that the pain never leaves.

And, really, I wouldn't have it any other way. With great love comes great pain. If I had never loved him, I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't have cried then; I wouldn't cry now.

But compared to the days we laughed, to the days we danced, to the days we had fun? Oh these days of pain are well worth all those wonderful memories. Nick always had one question - who lives better than us? People have surely lived with more: with more financial security, with better cars, with bigger houses, with less problems, with less difficulties.

But no, no one ever lived better than us. Every day was an adventure - and oh how I miss those adventures.