Nights and Days...

Nights were, for the first many months, the hardest for me to get through, my little sweetheart. It probably didn’t help that I started drinking again in those early days. And hadn’t you told me, my love, that I should never do that when I was lonely or sad or upset? So, I stopped again, my darling. In fits and starts at the New Year but on a clear path and righted course by the early days of February, so nearly six months now. And I’m getting to sleep better. I’m getting to sleep better, too, because I always talk to you, my love, as I take to our bed. I lay down quietly on my side and hold on to the open sleeve of your little purple shirt, taking it in my hand where it lay on top of your pillow and I talk to you. Take inventory of the day. Tell you how much I love you. Say a little prayer that you are kept safe and that I may meet you in the New Place come morning. Come soon. The nights are a little easier for that, now. It’s the dawn that has become so hard. Each morning waking is as heartbreaking as the first, with the terrible realization, coming out of the dream state, that you are not physically on this dark planet, not in body by my side. That in that way, I am all alone. Terribly lonely and alone. It hurts so much every time I wake that I can scarcely draw breath. But I say our prayer again and kiss your pictures and put on my necklace and say good morning to your beautiful spirit and make myself rise, make coffee, fill the daylight hours with a thousand little chores and tasks and projects to temper the horrible sting and muddle through until evening falls and I may lay me down and whisper again to you until I fall asleep. Dreaming of you and the Beautiful New Place. Hoping to wake there at last with you instead of this lonely world without you. How I pray to be delivered to you, my love. How I wish with all my heart and soul for that day. For you, my little sweetheart. For that day I join you, my love. Oh, Summer. My gorgeous girl. For that day…