So it's been 27 days. Pronounced dead on the 15th. It was after midnight, so ... the 15th.
The time has both crawled past and keeps moving faster than I am ready for it to. Wait! I want to hold on to something! The sound of his voice, the smell of his after-shaving moisturizer. I have managed to throw away his toothbrush, but not yet put away the suitcases from the business trip he'd just returned from.
I have managed to knit a little bit. A bit of sock. This is one of those things I always did during the day while he was at work, or at night after he was asleep. Nothing odd about doing that without him.
And I thought I was going to be able to write something without crying. Wrong again.
I wish I had more to say. I've gotten all sorts of horrible things done. The big one to come will be choosing a headstone--more fun than you can shake a stick at, eh? And I can't actually do anything on that until I have the deed to the gravesite. I think. I also have the execrable task of asking my in-laws to pay for the flowers they'd wanted to pay for, now that I've finally received a bill from the florist for multiple hundreds of dollars more than I'd expected. Oh, yeah, they ordered flowers, too. Great.