it’s been one week.
In some ways it feels like he’s been gone forever, and yet in ways it feels like it was only moments ago I walked in the door and found him gone.
I keep acting like I’m ok for everyone else’s sake, but I’m not.
The only thing I want to do when I get home is curl up in the dark in my bedroom. I guess I should be thankful I have a job I have to go to, or I would have no motivation to do anything besides sleep.
I saw a black cat sitting on a porch on my way home tonight, and was startled by how quickly and involuntarily the tears spilled over onto my cheeks.
I still open the door gingerly when I get home so as not to hit him or allow him to escape into the hall, and I still walk in carefully looking at the ground so as not to step on him.
Then I realize he is not here anymore and I cry.
Like those times I picked up the phone to call my dad after he died.
The muscle memory remains long after…
In two hours it will be my birthday.
I don’t think I have ever been less motivated to celebrate being alive another year.
Not even on my own.
I just don’t care.
I don’t have anything to celebrate and nothing on the horizon to look forward to.
I just feel empty inside and nothing is filling the void.