Another Sabbath. I used to love Sabbath. I woke up every Sabbath excited, because this was the day my husband and I were going to do something together that was fun. Maybe we would play video games. Maybe we would watch a TV show. Maybe we would go back to bed and make love. Every Sabbath was fun because of him. Now they are just long and lonely.
I have to remind myself every day that this is the day the Lord has made. I should rejoice and be glad in it. This morning, I went back to bed. This is a bad habit for a chronic depressive. It turns into days and days in bed. I don't want to slip into that black hole of depression. It would hurt all of those that love me, and we have had enough hurt. Of all things, I must guard against that.
I am scared about my future. Everything that mattered to me, all of my hopes and dreams, were tied up in the sanctity of my marriage. Everything was because of Storm. Everything was geared toward bringing him, and therefore us, happiness and security in the future. My husband was not a man at the end of his rope, or the end of his life. We were planning for the future. Working together on our goals. Making changes that would benefit us for months going forward.
The contrast is amazing. I have no idea where my next paycheck is coming from because I haven't worked in two weeks. I'm not sure how I will pay rent. Because of the suicide, I'm not certain I will be able to collect the life insurance I had for just such an event. I have applied because the benefits manager said, "We have no such exclusion." I remember reading in the policy (which I cannot locate) that it was an exclusion. I hate the uncertainty. I will not hear back until next week. Until I know, I'm stuck in limbo, waiting for the news that my life can go on with simplicity, or that I will continue struggling.
I see a counselor for the first time in my life on Tuesday. I will ask him to give permission for some time off of work, and to sign off on my short-term disability, so that I have at least some income coming in. Storm and I were doing so well...now I'm not sure how I will pay the basic bills. I don't know what I hope the counselor can do. I know that my family and friends loved Storm, too, and sitting and listening to my pain hurts them. Listening to what happened, over and over again, hurts them. I see it in their faces, and I feel it in their presence, and I force myself to stop, Sondra...just stop.
I hate the idea of opening up to a stranger about this. Worse, I hate that Storm has put me in the position to have to.
The worse thing is the missing him. I missed him from the very first second, the moment I watched his life drain away. I knew that he was gone, and I knew that I missed him. I miss his grumpy, crabby morning presence. I miss his voice drawling into his video game mic. I miss him holding open the blankets to welcome me to bed, then folding me in his arms like I was his teddy bear. I miss him bossing the dogs. I miss his laughter and his humor and his face, his sexy smile, his unwavering love. I really miss his face. I miss his kisses. I miss his sex. I miss his friendship.
This one human being was my life for eight years, and the hole he left behind is so big, I don't think it will ever be filled again. All that I can do is wake up tomorrow, and remember this is the day the Lord has made, I should rejoice and be glad in it.
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