It just hit me today at work that it was a month ago today that I last saw my wife Ariel, last talked to her, last gave her a hug and a kiss.  She'd said she was going to take off for a few days to sort some things out and would be back in time for going to her job on Friday.  I'd gone in to talk to her that Monday night (January 31st) to let her know that I was kind of scared of what would come of it but that I also still love her and would be here when she got back.  She seemed a little distant and a bit excited, which I chalked up to her tendency to get focused on things she was doing and looking forward to the break.  I had no idea at the time she was planning to disappear entirely.  I have the feeling this is going to hit me a lot harder once I get home, as being at work I do tend to push things to the background, at least some.  For now, though, it's just yet another sharp reminder that she's gone and not coming back.  That she left.  That she killed herself.

I know there are more to come.  This Friday, which'll be a month since the police came to the door to tell me she'd been found dead in a hotel room.  Our anniversary in April of when we got together as a couple.  My birthday in May.  Our wedding anniversary in September.  Her birthday in October.  Thanksgiving.  Christmas.  New Year's.  Next February 4th, when it'll be a year that she's gone.

I'm glad I only have to deal with these one at a time.  Having to deal with the whole magnitude of her being dead by her own hand all in one big shot would....I don't think I'd survive that.  I'm sometimes not sure what's keeping me going now, other than maybe just reflex and survival instinct that has me putting one foot in front of the other and breathing, over and over again.