Four months and two days have passed since Julie died.
I am physically and emotionally exhausted.
I am sick of the topic of most conversations being my grief and whether I'm coping or not, and yet it helps me to talk about it and to know that people want to know how I am. This is a paradox that is not easily resolved.
I wrote a poem this morning. I wanted to write something that acknowledged that the marriage I had was far from perfect, and that there were exceedingly difficult times, but that the worst of those days were better than the intense loneliness and longing that I'm experiencing now. This concept and the desire to write a poem has been on my mind for several weeks. But the words came to me this morning at Church when I should have been listening to the sermon.
Even on the worst of days,
there’d be a hug and kiss.
Her warm embrace, her laugh and smile,
I will forever miss.
The end of day, the early morn,
are times I always dread.
I stay up late, do anything,
to avoid the lonely bed.
Sometimes I smile, and even laugh,
but joy is hard to find.
Companionship, her touch and love,
are always on my mind.
There were good times, but also bad,
It often wasn’t fair.
Sometimes I thought of giving up,
when I was in despair.
The worst of days when she was here,
the worst days of my life,
were better than the current days,
without her as my wife.
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