I was looking at photos in iPhoto earlier to find one to post today (that's Jerry in our bedroom, not sure what year - somewhere between the aviator glasses and the last, smaller pair he had when he died, there was the pair he's wearing in that shot, but I don't remember when that would have been exactly). I look at the pictures of the two of us together and I see such joy on my face at being with Jerry that I now can't imagine - I can't even guess what it felt like to be that happy. Pictures have been taken since Jerry died in which I'm smiling, and I've laughed at things and smiled at things, but behind every smile, beneath every moment of better humor I get to have, there is such a vast abyss of grief, and I just cannot remember what it was like to feel as happy as I know I did when I was Jerry's wife and not his widow.
"You won't always feel the way you do now." But how will I feel when I don't feel the way I do now? Jerry was so special, made such a huge and beautiful difference in my life, gave it such a foundation of happiness and love and contentment. Every time I saw him it felt like I was getting to fall in love with him all over again - I never got over the excitement of being with him, the joy of my life with him, the joy of being loved by Jerry Enright. How will I get through however many days, months, years I may have left on this earth without him? Without that joy?
Oh Karen, you just wrote the words to how I've been feeling the past 9 months...
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