Sleep was becoming harder to come by these dyas, If it wasn’t for the short catnaps in odd places throughout the day he wouldn’t get much rest at all. She was always his first thought when he awoke, and this morning was no different.
His ever waking moment was spent on thoughts of her or trying not to think of her.
Sitting up, the bed moaned under his weight. His hand involuntarily drifted to her side of the bed, empty, as he knew it would be, same as every morning.
As he sat there in the cold dark emptiness the window shook in its frame against the cold persistent winter wind. The first sign that the weatherman may just have been right this time. A cold front was coming in.
He closed his dry itchy eyes and concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing. The first lines of the song gently sounded and he hummed along to the melody. Their song. Every word was as if written for them. The melody so totally matched their lives together.
He gently shook his head, opened his eyes and forced the song away. It was useless to keep remembering. Why must he always remember? Hadn’t he suffered enough already?
Swinging his legs off the bed his feet touched the cold floor. He reached into the closet bin for a pair of clean socks and underwear. And so the routine of yet another long lonely day began. He thought about what was going to happen during the next several hours, same as every morning. He would walk toward the bathroom to empty his bladder where he would dress for the day. Along the way he would stop at the hall closet to retrieve his morning dose of Alka-Seltzer.
Next, he would walk into the kitchen, prepare his relief for in acidic stomach and drink it down. Then, sitting in his chair in the living room, wrapped in his warm blanket he would reach for his latest book brought home from the library to help him in his futile attempt to escape his memories. He would force himself to become the character in the book. Knowing why this whole routine was important to his sanity didn’t interest him. It never did. It was something his therapist told him was good for him.
Whether it was good or not, if it was working according to some criteria his therapist operated under was of no consequence to him. It was just something he was told to do, to occupy his time.
Oh, who was he kidding, it was meant to occupy his mind. A ruse to prevent him from thinking about her. After 18 months of trying it wasn’t working, he knew it wasn’t going to work.
This morning was going to be different. This morning he would break his routine and lay back down, pull the covers up to his chin and just let his mind go. TO hell with what his therapist said. He doesn’t know the pain. He may think his books and his training knows whats best but they haven’t been right yet.
He closed his eyes again and allowed the gentle rhythm of his breathing soothe him as the song began once again. Her lovely upturned face smiled at him as they danced to their song.
A few hours later his daughter opened the front door to his house with her key. She expected to find him sitting in his chair but it was empty. The quiet of the house was not unusual, but the light next to his chair was turned off, the book lay where it was yesterday, everything appeared to be untouched. She felt a chill gently grip her telling her today was somehow different. Calling out she moved toward the bedroom.
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