I just want to hear your voice.

When Jim died, I never expected to find him in my bed when I woke in the morning.  I did not experience denial, at least in the 'stages of grief' way I'd expected. I did not think he was coming home. When I woke up that first morning after the day he died, and indeed every morning ever since, I just knew he was gone, dead, at least in the physical world.  I knew it in my soul, in my heart, in my very cells.  

As life started to begin around me and our family and friends went back to their routines and jobs, I tried to regain my footing.  It was extremely difficult to leave the house. Every time I drove away, tears would fill my eyes. I felt I was driving away from the place we'd been closest, and the last place he'd really been alive. And every time I came home to only my dog, I'd cry at the emptiness of our, my, home. I would curl up on his spot on the couch, where he'd spent hours during his illness. I felt close to him there. I slept on his side of the bed, on his pillow.  

I tried to imagine him in the bed next to me, but it was no good. I knew he was never going to lie next to me again in this lifetime. So it came as some surprise to me when I first left for a night away and got to where I was going, that I checked my phone, expecting a text from Jim to be there on the screen. When I'm away from home and something makes me think of Jim, I want to text and tell him.  When I am home and walk by my phone on the kitchen counter, I always stop to check to see if he's sent me a text. I know this is impossible, yet I still continue to habitually check. What is it about the phone? In every other way I know he's gone, but I still expect him to call.

When I go away for the weekend with girlfriends and we arrive at our destination, they call or text to let their husbands know they've arrived safely. And I just stare at my blank screen, no one to text to tell him I'm okay. When I get in the car to head home, I grab my phone to text Jim that I'm on my way home, like I did almost every day for 17 years.  And I stare at my phone...what was I thinking?

In the first two years of our marriage, I was traveling 70-90% of the time. A few years later he was gone 2-3 nights a week for work.  It got much better when he decided to work for Slalom and he hoped to wind down his career over the following five years or so. But no matter who was away or for how long, or how far, we would check in with a call or text at least two or three times a day.  Perhaps that's what it is about the phone.  It was always our connection whenever we were physically apart. So at some level I may be hoping that we can connect again. And so I check my phone. And stare, unbelieving, but knowing.

I'd like to say that this has gotten better over time.  Maybe someday.  Until that time....