I stayed home yesterday so I wouldn't have to be around anyone else. I worked; I ate food that I didn't taste; I did laundry that I refused to fold. I thought about getting my life organised, but I couldn't find the motivation for it.
I was mostly okay. After all this time, it's easier to put my mind on other things. The pain is there, but it's easier to ignore. My sense of loss is numbed. What's left is sadness and confusion. I have gotten pretty good at dealing with that sadness and confusion though, so I felt okay.
And then I had a dream last night. In it, we were talking about his suicide. He told me everything; he explained the why of it all, and how he came to make that decision. The things he told me eased my mind, and helped me gain some perspective on how that affected me.
I woke up sobbing, and completely unable to remember the details of what he told me. Those answers I've craved for so long, that I felt like I had for such a brief moment, were gone. The clarity of the dream left me and what I found in its place was a bitterness I haven't felt for a long time, marked by a need for answers that I thought I'd put behind me.
And today I'm feeling all the numbed confusion I felt eleven years ago, when I woke up the day after to realise that my husband was dead and I didn't know why. My brain knows it was eleven years ago, but my heart feels like it was yesterday.