Razor blades and raspberry jam in 2023

Things I can’t wait to be able to afford to buy again. I’m saving every single cent I can, buying absolutely nothing other than the essentials - dog food for the dogs, milk for the kid, coffee for me - thats been “groceries” for weeks.

It’ll be such a relief to get there. Such a fucking relief. But I’m not there yet. Bob still hasn’t come thru with a vehicle, despite dangling one in front of me for weeks telling me he’s working on it. Kind of panicking a bit given I’m 3 weeks away from leaving … somehow.

I look forward to sitting outside in a yard, the sky free of light pollution, my surroundings free of horns and sirens and traffic. Maybe I’ll see you there? In the sky? In the stars and the moon and the aurora?

There will be flowers bobbing in the breeze - hydrangea for you and roses for me .. peach coloured ones like the first ones you bought me.

A chaos bed of wildflowers for the bees .. maybe a bee hotel too?

And birdhouses .. wooden ones like the ones I used to paint with the kids when they were small. I’ll paint them again and have a little wooden birdhouse village throughout the yard.

And a porch swing, surrounded by twinkling solar lights and windchimes where I can pretend you’re sitting & swinging with me in the quiet evenings.

And it’ll be okay, right? It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. Right?

I miss you. I miss you so much. How has it been so long, my love? 431 days but the pain is as fresh as though you left me yesterday.

I listened to all the videos I saved, just to hear your voice. Warm, soft, soothing. I miss your voice. Your laugh. Your smile. The way you made me feel.

Too young. That’s what my taxi driver told me yesterday … that I looked too young to be a widow, too young to have grown children.

He asked me what route I wanted to take the dentist and I told him I didn’t know because I had no idea how to get around here anywhere, that my husband did all the driving. He smiled and said, “Your husband no drive you today! Lucky me!” and I looked out the window and said, “Not today. He died last year.”

There’s no easy way, is there? To say that to people. His face fell and he shook his head, and kept repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Maybe I shouldn’t tell anyone I’m a widow, but that doesn’t seem fair to you. Why should I hide that you’ve gone? I’m not ashamed that you’re gone. I’m not ashamed to be a widow.

Not ashamed. Devastated. Sad. Desperate to not let anyone forget you .. even if they never knew you in the first place.

Oh Babes, this should all just be a horrible dream. A horrible horrible nightmare I’ll wake up from. I miss you. I love you more than life itself.