It was supposed to be a nightmare.  One of those horrible, nonsensical fever dreams that goes along with the flu–which is what I feel like I have at this point.  I keep getting chilled and achy.  But I woke this morning as I went to bed–sobbing.  There was no instant of forgetting, no moment where I didn’t remember.  Sleep was sporadic and poor.  Probably will be for a while.  My stomach won’t tolerate anything more than water.  My husband took off work today, and he’ll probably spend the entire day sitting in his chair reliving the whole thing.  I could see it on his face last night.  I came on to work, mostly because if I stayed home, our grief would just feed off each other, and I have deadlines.  Not that I’m really getting anything done here either.  But at home there are reminders everywhere–only one where there should be two.  She was so much a part of the fabric of our lives that all we can see are tatters and holes.

And all I keep hearing is the hysterical anguish in my husband’s voice when he called me yesterday.

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