And the numbness continues

Seeing obituaries of people who lived into their 80s and 90s and resenting them, resenting them getting to have all those extra years, resenting the ones who love them getting to have them for all those extra years.  I wanted decades more with Jerry, lots of decades.  If I actually did believe yet that Jerry is never coming back, the resentment would be that much stronger.

This numbness is getting more and more frightening.  I find myself doing and seeing things I know would be upsetting me so much if I were really feeling things - I got chilly this evening and put on one of Jerry's flannel shirts; I went upstairs earlier to the "Buddha bedroom" (we call it that because Jerry decorated it with Tibetan thangkas and Buddhist statuettes, as well as some Mexican Day of the Dead artwork) to find some papers I want to get together for the lawyer on Wednesday, and noticed half of a Heath bar wrapped in its wrapper next to the computer - waiting for Jerry's appetite to return enough for him to eat the second half.  Hell, everything about the house would be upsetting me if I were feeling things.  The clipboard leaning against the wall on the upstairs landing, where Jerry put it while in the middle of painting up there last fall; the seedlings he planted for his hydroponic window garden project, which were over-warmed by the heating mat they were on and didn't survive - we shrugged it off, saying he'd just plant a new batch; the black raspberries I know are going to appear out there on vines, which he was looking forward to picking, and to using again this summer to make jam, as he did last year.  But so far I think about these things, see these things, and maybe cry a little bit... but it's all still to come.  And that's so scary.

The picture of Jerry I posted today, of him on the back porch just over a year ago - I love that picture.  I mean, I love all pictures of Jerry, but in that one he looks so relaxed and happy.  And so real.  As if he's going to get up out of that chair and walk back into the house, and I'll be able to walk up to him as I've done so many times and put my arms around him, and I'll wake up from this nightmare and everything will be just fine.  And I'll tell him about this horrible, horrible dream I've been having.  And I'll be so grateful to have woken up.