I have bought some Christmas lights. This is a first for me. But I think I need something to cheer me up. I put them on a big plant and have not had the patience to spread out the bulbs evenly over the whole surface. At the moment it is doing some sort of on and off rhythm that I find a bit stressful. A moment later I find the static setting and feel a bit relieved, yet also a bit bored. It is a bit too quiet here. I hear the sound of the bathroom fan. I had my first bath of the day a while ago. It is dark outside. Half past five in the afternoon. I see my Christmas lights reflected in the window. My hands feeling a bit dry. Toes pointed. Not sure why they are doing that. My feet rubbing together now somehow in togetherness. In communication. Now they stop. I stare at my right foot, at least I guess it must be there in that black sock. Dismay on my face. Fingers touching smooth keyboard. Then the toes point again, feet meeting. A bit like the Christmas lights earlier on. Seems I may be a bit nervous. It is hard to tell sometimes. People ask me how I am. I have not much of an idea. I think I am doing fairly well. I am not spending all my time in pyjamas, crying. I do cry. Sometimes at unexpected moments. A flash of a memory. Images of him suffering. When I miss him, I walk into his room. I look at the portrait. Look at the urns. I cry because of the missing. I cry because of how he died. I vividly remember his hands and his feet. The freckles on his shoulder. Sometimes I pat the empty side of the bed. As if I want to be sure he is not there. But also somehow giving him some affection. Expressing tenderness. Now I cry. And my chest feels full. Flickering energy in the pit of my stomach. He is gone. Yet he is not gone. Gone beyond perhaps. But not gone anywhere. I am still searching. I hope he is at peace.
