Losing my mind so I can find it again . . .

Continuing this blog is so very hard, for endless reasons and I often wonder why I do it, plod on, without the main reason I started it in the first place, the main reason everyone checked in—my beloved, our beloved, Bob . . . more often, seems rather pointless, for endless reasons. But I will, till something/someone tells me to shut my f'n piehole and get a real job . . .

Seven months . . . it still seems like Bob just died. In my world. Have I said this before . . .every day, still, I miss everything about him. I miss his smile. I miss his wicked sense of humor. I miss his silky black hair. I miss his cute little butt (which was waaaaay smaller than mine—seriously something wrong with that picture???), I miss arguing with him—I always told he should have been an attorney because even when he was wrong, he could convince anyone he was right. . . I miss kissing him, period. I miss that cute little cowlick in the middle of his hairline that drove him nuts, but drove me wild—made his hair kind of swirl up and over to the left, kind of like Elvis, if his hair got too long, and he didn't "tame" it before it dried . . . I miss cooking with him, miss coming home from work and having dinner ready for me . . .

I miss his beautiful, expressive hands—he had the most beautiful hands, strong and perfect, cradled a camera so gently . . .I miss giving him foot rubs and his cute "pillow toes" (his big toes were so cute and "puffy," looked like his toenails were pressed into marshmallows . . . I miss his back rubs—he would set a timer, but always gave me bonus minutes for good behavior . . .I miss his take-charge attitude . . . I miss simply sitting in the living room with him, as we both "did work" on our laptops, or watched a bit of TV . . . I miss snow-shoing at William O'Brien and stopping at the little tavern in Marine on St. Croix for a beer and onion rings . . . I miss our road trips, and I'd buy Cosmo and the Enquirer, and read all the trashy tidbits to Bob on the way to our destination . . . I miss grocery shopping with him. I miss cooking dinner with him. I miss crawling into bed and curling up next to his warm body. I miss doing his laundry. . .I miss getting mad at him when he'd try to be a "helper" and do my laundry with his, and turn all my bras pink, and shrink my jeans in the dryer . . . I miss him washing my car, getting the oil changed as a "surprise" forme . . .I miss roadtrips to the north shore, I miss camping with him, I miss sharing a bottle of wine as we sat around a campfire . . . II miss being his "Vanna White" at wine tastings . . . how do I end this list . . .

There is nothing that makes sense along the grief journey, yet at the same time, I do know, in my heart and my head, I am heading toward a better place. Because of my time on earth with Bob. I still can't quite describe or define it . . . it's still more of a feeling than a true knowing, and the unfortunate thing is, it ain't happening as fast as I want it, and I won't know if or when I'll arrive . . . When I do, I'll let you know . . . in the meantime, I'll continue to ramble on . . .