I’m having a really tough time. Rick died on April 3rd—nearly a month ago—and I have not had a decent night’s sleep since.
I thought his death would be somewhat “easier” for me to accept by now, but it’s just not happening. And when I do sleep, I grind my teeth
It’s not as if he died unexpectedly. Hell, he’d defied the odds for well over a decade, becoming the virtual poster boy for long-term survival with congestive heart failure.
We had five years together. The first three years were stellar. We traveled, and laughed and enjoyed the hell out of life. His final two years were filled with a series of long hospital stays and diminishing health.
I am not yet ready to write about his Memorial Service on April 26th, or his Interment on April 27th. I will—soon—but not yet. If I write about it, it will be real.
The only cure for grief is to grieve.