My Husband Died

Have I told you my husband died?

I must have.

I told everyone.

I told them not for attention or the cordial "I'm sorry" that usually follows.

I say it to myself again and again to remind me that he is gone.

I avoid thinking about him.

I also say it so people don't think I’m a divorcee.

I don't know why that bothers me, but it does.

And I am now a widow.

I usually don't give a rat's fat ass what people think about me, except for that.

He died.

He died and left me.

He's gone.

Never coming back.

We wanted to live together for another 20 years.

I didn't think it was possible to think about someone as many times a day as I think of him.

Where do I go from here?

How do I start over?

Star over??? Yes, I have to. I want to.

It's creeping up on the one year mark next month.

A year.

I've been with him since 44.

I had a moment over the weekend where I wanted to text him.

I wanted to talk to him.

I wanted him.

That only lasted a split second then my belly sank.

I cried.

A few days before he died, he called me from his handy.

He said he missed me.

I think I did well.

I think.

But he is engrained in my inner being.

In my soul.

He is a part of me.

He is a part of everything I see.

Without him, there would've never been an 'us.'

It's like his blood flows through me.

It's like he breathes into my lungs.

No one would breathe into his lungs.

I haven't had a dream about him in a long time.

I keep saying 'my husband.'

I don't have a husband.

Should I say, 'My late husband'?

Have I told you my husband died?