Sane?

So how many widows get to 17 months after their husbands die and then just decide to think that their husbands will come back someday, I wonder?  I'm not sure if that's the best way to put it.  As usual, as ever, I know Jerry is dead and not coming back.  And I don't think he is coming back, I don't believe it, I don't hope for it... but somehow I look at photos of him and... yes, I know he's dead, I do know it.  But it's like I'm deciding consciously not to accept all of that right now.  I'm not even sure what I'm saying.  Just that somehow right now I feel like I'm rejecting the finality of Jerry's absence and am deciding I don't want to deal with it right now.  While also not for a second really thinking it's not real.

Yikes... sounds kind of insane.

Recovery is going well, I think.  I'm still spending most of every day watching TV and lying around, although I'm a bit more upright now than I was.  My lower back is not happy with all this lying around, and I'm actually thinking about how nice it'll be someday to start running again (let's not forget I've run twice since July, or was it once?).  My farthest ventures outside have been to the mailbox.  My first post-op appointment is a week from tomorrow, and it'll be interesting to see what the surgeon thinks of my progress.