I feel like there is so much to say but yet I have nothing to say. Another damn oxymoron, nothing new in this hell. I will type anyway.

I still can't believe Gary is physically gone. I say that in a more solemn way. Before, my mind nor my emotions could wrap itself around this concept. It was the nightmare. The bad dream you can't wake up from. Feeling like every part of my existence is living on some distant planet while at the same time in some bizzare, twilight zone my body was still here functioning as a ghost. Everything was just a mirage. Like Pirates of the Caribbean. You eat but it doesn't quench your hunger; drink but doesn't satisfy your thirst. You are a living, cursed skeleton. Now, I think I can say it with more wrap. Maybe even some acceptance. I still don't like it any better. I'm still mad at life feeling robbed. Still so broken and sad over all I lost.

I think I'm starting to realize this is not the nightmare or the bad dream. It's what happened. It's my life. It's now a forever part of my story. Carved in stone. And I still don't know how to fucking live with that. A month and half ago, out of the blue, I went through a phase for probably 3 weeks that every time I heard my cell phone go off I would think of it like it was Gary. At the same time a cruel reminder that no, it wasn't him either. It was weird. 

Sometimes you can re-write the past. Not this one. Not this time. I logically understand life happens. Things happen. But ... that carries so little weight when average life expectancy for men as of 2014 was 76. Not 46. And the U.S. Census Bureau puts the average age women become widowed at 57. Not 35! Maybe one day I will get over this hangup.

I am so damn tired of saying I don't know what to do, how to do this. There is such an unrest in my soul. No peace to be found. When will this torment end ... ???

My last experience of him in spirit was a big deal - what I said, felt, and heard. For the first time, I maybe feel him still alive and still with me. Like maybe he really didn't die at all. But yet he's not "here". Not "here" in the way I need him. I need him "here" to finish our written story. The story that is now carved in stone as my will screams bloody murder.