I live in two worlds.
Far and away most of the time I'm in this one -- where she's already gone, and I have to reorganize my life to adapt to her absence. In this world I still have a huge list of things I need to do, processes I have to wait out, until I have a life that fits reasonably well within it.
But sometimes I see something, or I have a stray thought, and suddenly -- just for an instant -- I'm in that other world, where it hasn't happened yet, I haven't lost her yet, she's still here.
Being in that other world, the world that ended that day, doesn't hurt -- but the abrupt, inevitable shift back into this world that follows, and I once again have that emptiness where she used to be, it's like losing her all over again.
Today, finally, I can cry. I guess that's progress. It means I've gotten enough done that now I can stop doing and -- alone with my memories -- I can just feel for a few minutes.
And today's her memorial service. I'll never be able to say all of the above in front of that room full of people, so I've written it here.
The process of adapting goes on.