Every day is bad but Sunday is the worst. This was our special day, and being alone hits doubly hard. In the early days we would play tennis in the morning and then go to a pub with friends, once we retired it became a long dog walk in the morning, leisurely breakfast with the papers, gin and tonic with chilli puffs and beef jerky and a special dinner that we had chosen together. Then a quiet evening finishing the bottle of red and watching something together. Nothing exciting, just doing what we wanted to do, together.
I have been in tears practically all morning, I am so lonely and I miss my lovely Pete so much. The sound of his voice, his little catch phrases, his tuneless whistling. Being able to have a cuddle. I can't look at his photos. I can't touch or move anything of his. I can't play music. I keep thinking of walks we did together, little times when we were on holiday, just sitting in the garden together. I feel so intensely sad, sad for me trying to carry on without him, and sad for him, because he loved his life so much and did not want to leave it.
I am finding it so very difficult to keep going. What is the point? Whatever I do, wherever I go, he will not be there to share it with me. The idea of another 20 or 30 years without him appals me. I know people do survive, do make new lives for themselves, but at the moment I cannot see how I can do it. I am lost. I get up, walk the dogs, eat a couple of bits of fruit or something out of the freezer, drink, go to bed. This is not living, it is existing in a grey, blank world. No happiness, no enjoyment. Just sadness and longing. A deep physical ache, wanting to see and hold and speak to him again.
