It's Easter Sunday. You passed away three months ago today. I can't help but mark the day and reflect on the changes. It feels like I lost you yesterday and yet it's been forever since I've heard you say good morning.
Is it getting easier? In some ways, yes. I seem to function, seem to deal with my feelings, seem to even feel good at times. The studio and gallery have been my salvation, work has helped me move forward. My art keeps me centered, the people coming through the gallery have engaged me in thoughtful, wonderful ways. It feels good, it feels right, it feels like hope. When I think of the choices I've made in these past three months, the decision to stay in New Orleans was my choice to continue living. Maybe it hasn't been pretty at times, but I am finding a way to survive.
On the other hand, it's so very hard to live without you. When I think about you, the stabbing feelings of loss are still raw. I try to think about happy memories, but the haunting thoughts of your final days still leave me shaken and incredibly sad. I miss you. I just miss you and everything about our life together. I get angry at the world because I'm still here without you.
I ask why a lot. Why. Why. Why.
There's no clear answer. So I find comfort in my art, in the friends and strangers who come through the door of the gallery, in the cat who curls up next to me in the evenings to watch stupid TV. This is how I am building a life without you. Slowly, quietly, my small new world takes shape. A day marked by the anniversary of your death, another day of finding my way through it. Tentatively hopeful, yes, that's how I feel this morning.
Happy Easter, my love.