So I had a crisis after I finished the book. At first it was about the reaction to it and thinking of maybe having to rewrite it (which I can't and won't do). But really it was about not having it as a nightly ritual of grieving. Where to channel my grief now? Can I let go of it or will it come back with a vengeance?
The pain I get upon awakening has been a little unpredictable lately. Sometimes I don't get it immediately. Sometimes I look for it and that provokes it. Other times it skips me. Then it comes back as usual. That is also something I've been clinging to, I think. Without it, what do I awaken to?
This morning I had an intimation. I woke up thinking of him. It's strange that people think the photos of him covering my walls would be a constant reminder. They are not. I don't need a reminder. What was different this morning is I caught a glimpse of the endlessness of despair. I have been telling myself that grief is forever. Today I felt it. The finality of it. Every Saturday I will wake up to nothing to look forward to. He is not just away for a while. There is no substitute. There is no way for me to rejoin him. Even if I die. We die alone. He died alone.