Instead of flopping around in my havianas, sipping on a pina colada near copacabana beach I am sitting here contemplating visiting my husband at the funeral home for the last time. It's not that I want to see him again, as I have already said elsewhere, it's just not him. His face never looked like that, his mouth and nose look like somebody elses. No, I am going to slip a love letter into his pocket to take with him on his last journey on the 20th Jan.
We were due to move to Rio de Janeiro to live for 4 years back in November and here I am sitting alone having my morning breakdown, seems to be a habit, and thinking about how things should have been. So very sad. It's hard to see the point of anything anymore.
