Some of the tired is staying up to watch the Red Sox lose at 1 am EST (sigh, Jesse must be pleased with that result - it was his A's who beat us), and some of it is that I'm not really up to full strength yet. Some of it is also going past my first yard sale this morning. Brian loved yard sales, and he would hopefully say, "Yard sale?" if we went past one. It was one of our games in the car to pass the time. He was a yard sale genius - seriously. And I miss him.

We bury him on June 11. There shouldn't be any snowstorms to keep people from this service, and I've already had a stern conversation with him about how there will be no rainstorms or hailstorms or any nonsense like that. I want a lovely day. Or else.

We're going to go to his favorite Chinese buffet afterwards. It seems right, somehow.

Today, I'm writing. We have writing group at 2 pm, and I have to go and get my short story printed out. I'm also going to be working on some stuff for my Patreon and the SSP that I need to really work on.

I hope you're all doing well. I need to write more, here and everywhere.

I'm just tired, that's all. 
 It's finally time. I'm heading back to my dayjob tomorrow, and I'm alternatively excited and nervous about it.

Excited, because I do love my dayjob, and I love the people I work with. I work in a lovely campus. My team really supports me. And I'll get out of the house on a regular basis.

Nervous, because I have to talk to people again. And I'll be responsible for things. And I'll be around people who haven't seen me in three and a half months, who will have to ask me how I'm doing. And for the first time in a while, I'll have to talk about Brian and how I'm doing without him.

I won't lie. Days like yesterday are hard. Really hard. I'm glad I went to the wedding, but watching Brian's brother getting married was bittersweet. Brian was there, I know he was, but he wasn't THERE. And while the roommate was wonderful, she's not him.

I have to keep looking forward. One day at a time, as the AA folks say. He's always going to be with me, and there will always be that small part of my heart that won't ever return. But I can do this. I can.
vg_ford: (Default)
( Feb. 24th, 2017 10:08 am)

Dear Brian,

It’s been 24 days since you died, and it still doesn’t feel real. Your van is gone, starting its new life as the Gable van, but I still look out and expect to see it coming into the driveway at 6:30 pm every night. The house is too quiet, as if we’re all waiting for you to come back. Even Tayla and Bear are waiting for you – Bear’s at the door every night, right around 6:30, hoping that you’ll walk in.

My bed is too big now. It’s cold, and it’s lonely, and it’s very hard to fall asleep at night. I wake up with one arm outstretched, as if looking for you. I’ve taken to wearing your teeshirts, just so I can have you with me.

All the things I want to share with you – they finally released the new Pokemon from the Johto region, and I know you’d be excited about them. I’m trying to catch them all for you, but I’m just not as good at it as you were.

KJ and I have decided that the only way you’ll get to see things and do things is if we do them – I think that’s the best, so we’re going to live for you. It won’t be the same, of course. I adore KJ (just like you did) but she’s not you. There are some things that I’ll do alone physically, but I’ll know you’re there with me.

It’s still not fair that you’re gone. We were supposed to have at least 10 if not 20 more years together, even given your family history. I’m trying very hard to be strong, but it’s lonely. Even with people here, it’s lonely. I feel like I’m in a holding pattern, waiting for something to happen, but I don’t know what. People say it will get better, but apparently that takes some time.

I don’t know what else to say, but I’m sure I’ll write again. I don’t know any other way to communicate with you anymore, but somehow I know you’ll be able to read this.

I love you, and I miss you.


Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.



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