Twelve Weeks

The first week after Steve's death was chaotic. I hardly slept, never ate, was constantly on the phone and/or had 3 people around me minimum. What I remember of that time comes to me in snapshots - most of them blurry. What I've been told is I behaved in a way that would have made Steve proud. I behaved like a lady. And in that first week, that's all I needed to get done.

At three weeks I had to tell people 'I know it looks like I'm functioning but I'm not.' I was still deep in the throws of shock. Everything I did was on automatic pilot. Process paperwork, shave my legs, have dinner with friends; just keep moving while attaching no intellect or emotion to any of it. But I kept doing whatever needed to be done.

At seven weeks the shock had worn off but I had lost hope. Hope and thankfulness and love. I wandered in a dark cloud trying to make sense of what was left. And I kept doing whatever needed to be done.

At nine weeks I was finally able to mourn my husband. I had to leave the country to do it. There was nothing else to be done, so I did nothing else.

Today I am functioning. Well, the shock is long gone. I have hope for some kind of future even if I can't envision it yet. I still mourn Steve. I cry every day. I didn't know a person could cry this much and not fall down with the dehydration. I keep doing what needs to be done. It's just now I can do it with intelligence, hope, love and thankfulness. Sometimes, though, I'm not a lady. Make no mistakes; my husband would totally get behind that idea.