I am not dressed. I did not do my hair. I have not put on my contact lenses.
I wear a pair of Uggs, sweatpants, a long john shirt and a fleece. The plumber will just have to deal with it.
I do not want visitors. I do not want to go out. I am sure that if I open his closet and smell him, I will stay in it until my back hurts or the kids come home.
I sat in the living room today, opening cards and crying. I napped and dreamt my daughter almost died.
I've lost all of his memories, his half of the kids. Our reactions to poopy diapers, temper tantrums, funny word orders. I don't remember them all and now, part of my children's lives are gone. Part of who they were has just disappeared.
Those thoughts, comments, memories, all the things that I couldn't remember about our kids are gone. They went with him.
This is what they mean by lonely. I had no idea.