Today it is one month since Pete died. It has been the longest and foulest month of my life. I exist, no more. I get up, walk the dogs, try to eat, shower, drink too much, and go back to bed to lie awake most of the night. There is nothing more than that, no happiness, no enjoyment, no interest in anything. The only feelings are bad ones, sadness and misery. The reality of loss keeps hitting me. Over and over again, and each time like the first.
I am trying. I have met one other widow for coffee through way up, and have made contact with two more. Our friends have booked me on a holiday in Scotland with them in June. It will be the same group as used to go, except that the most important person to me won't be there. I do appreciate their kindness, I really do, but I am dreading it. At least the dogs will be with me.
I heard yesterday that someone else we knew from work has just died from colon cancer. More shockingly, a local acquaintance who I am becoming closer to has had a recurrence of breast cancer after many years. I met her partner yesterday and he told me that it is inoperable, and she is on palliative treatment. He said it really casually, as though he doesn't understand what that means. At least my friend with kidney cancer is lots better since it was removed. He is still waiting to hear what they found.
Missing my lovely Pete so much, every minute of every day I think of something we did together and it hurts. I have a bereavement counselling session today at the hospice. I don't think it helps, but at least it is something in the diary.
I hope month two will be better in some way. I cannot go on like this.
