It’s Christmas Eve and My Husband’s Dead

It’s Christmas Eve.  Tomorrow marks the five-month anniversary of Dan’s death.

I remember Christmas Eves past.  We’d tease about opening presents early.  Sometimes we did and sometimes didn’t.  Sometimes we had a fancy meal and sometimes we didn’t.  Sometimes we stayed up late and sometimes we didn’t.

No matter what we did, I remember going to bed knowing he and I and the dogs were tucked in our bed, safe and sound with visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads.

I remember making ham and potatoes au gratin with lots of mustard and Gruyere.

I remember knowing we’d take the dogs for a walk no matter how icy or windy it was because Dan insisted.  They were good dogs and they deserved it he said (and he was right).

I remember Dan enjoying the lights on our living room wreath — and that warming my heart.

I remember stroking his hair then and this summer when I wheeled him around the nursing home grounds in May and June.

I remember how he hugged my leg with his arm when I stood next to his wheelchair seven days before he died when I found him folded over at the waist because he couldn’t hold his torso up anymore.

Back then, at least, Dan was alive.  ALIVE!  I could smell him. I could touch him.  I could see him. I could kiss him.  I could tell him I loved him.  I could hold him.  I could feel his warmth and send him mine.

Now Dan is dead.  His life on this Earth over.  It will never be again.

Dan didn’t want to be dead at 64.

Its Christmas Eve and I’m numb.  Frozen in grief.  Empty.  Hollowed out. Almost immobile.  I’m walking through life like a zombie.  I send a card here and there.  I wave at a neighbor…thanking them for caring…hoping they know how much I appreciate their support but only having enough energy to do that wave.

I’m looking forward to January 1.  At least the first “holiday season” without Dan will be over by then.  Maybe the New Year will bring some relief.

I love you Dan. I’ll love you forever.