Counting Years He Won’t Be Here

So this is a new one.  Usually exercise makes me feel good, and I’ve been getting on the treadmill several times a week.  I’ve worked my way up to doing close to three miles in about 45 or 50 minutes, and it helps.

Today, though, I was on the treadmill and I looked up at the timer and it said 20:12.  And then it said 20:13, and then 20:14; and suddenly those weren’t seconds being counted.  They were years.  Years Tony and I were supposed to spend together.  Years he promised to spend with me, in sickness and in health.  I was walking and panting and sobbing and I had to stop. 

There are days I can wax philosophical about what I’m going through.  This isn’t one of them.  I had another blog post ready to go, but it will keep until tomorrow.  Today I miss him too much to post about other things. 

I wish he hadn’t done what he did.  If only wishes could do the trick, he’d be here with me.  He’d be in treatment and we’d be figuring things out together.  But wishes are fairy tales, and reality, right now, is no fun at all.


11 thoughts on “Counting Years He Won’t Be Here

  1. Oh sweet girl hang in there. Keep getting on that treadmill. Isn’t it crazy the moments it hits you. You just never know. Hugs to you. Trust me, I get it. I soooo get it. And sooo wish I didn’t. Love to you!!!

  2. Aimee, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Grief strikes at the oddest times and has no qualms over it being in private or in public. I started crying in the fruit section at the grocery store over my brother never being able to eat his favorite strawberries ever again. It was embarassing but I lived through it. Hugs to you.

  3. Sometimes I cry my way through things. I once cried the whole time I picked up dog poop outside in my yard. Sometimes I just sit on the floor and cry really loud and hard for awhile and then get up again and go on. I never thought it would get better, but I don’t cry as much anymore.

  4. Oh, I hear you my friend……loud and clear. I wish I had that magic wand, that ability to turn back the clock. Unfortunately this is our reality and I’m here for you, anytime. xx

  5. The smallest things seem to trigger the biggest memories…creating art, taking photos…I love both and yet everyday I’m reminded I cannot share what I’m doing with Don. We knew that he was older than me, that he had serious health issues…what I did not know was that he had PTSD…had had it since WWII…intensified with Vietnam…it took him (his mind) away from me in 1996…I resent the hell out of that! I hear you, the journey is filled with rocks (to stumble on) and pot holes (to fall into)…there are days I definitely feel I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole with Alice…what else is there to do but continue on…finding support where we can.

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