I’ve had a lot of those moments this week where the missing of Dan has been sharp and hard and tangible.
I’m always conscious of him not being here – even when I’m laughing or having fun, there’s always that subtle sense of his absence. I never forget.
However time has gently smoothed some of the corners so that the missing of him is usually in an abstract, broad sense. Like the image of him in my mind is a bit blurry around the edges – more of a summary of all the parts of who his was and what he meant to me. When I miss him, it’s almost like I miss the general presence of him and the sensation of him being here as part of my ongoing life.
Then there are the days when it's crystal clear just how incredible and real he was and I find myself missing all the many wonderful, specific things about him.
The sharpness of that loss just cuts a little deeper.
This week my mind has been wandering to vibrant thoughts about the curve of his smile and how his eyes lit up when he laughed and fun things we did together (and the boring things we did together) and the way he danced to hip hop music and how it felt to be in his arms and how animated he was when he goofed around with his friends and OH MY GOODNESS I miss him so freaking much.
A year ago I would have been a mess dealing with these thoughts – teary, sad, unable to find any happiness or hope. However today I’m preparing to go out for a couple of drinks with some friends tonight and am looking forward to catching up with my family for Australian father’s day tomorrow (Dan and I didn’t get the chance to have children and while this usually makes me very sad, Father’s Day doesn’t present quite as a big a challenge as it does for my widow friends with children).
This sense of ‘doing ok’ and going about my day-to-day life while still missing him is a bit strange. I still get urges to stand on the spot and scream out loud, ‘He’s gone! What the hell happened? How did he die like that!? I miss him! This suck and I can’t do this!’
But these urges are not as frequent and compelling and I’m able to keep moving around them. Today, it's just a constant longing. I miss the wonderful man who was my husband.