Since Wife's death, I feel as if I am running in place.  I thought I was ready to let her to go when she said she was ready to go home, but I am still not. Every evening I force my misty-eyed self into an empty bed. Every day, I waver between feeling guilty for not keeping her alive, sighing with relief that she no longer suffers, and warring between relief and regret that I am no longer charged with her health care.After a year. I. still. miss. her.

While I realize that I have adjusting somewhat, I often find myself wiping wet cheeks. I hear a song, I pick up a photo, I call one of my children or grands HER name in conversation.

I no longer feel normal, though the several grief books assure me that I am. Pperhaps. In a recent conversation with a mother whose son had died, was speaking as if he had died last week. She confessed eventually that he had been dead for over twenty three years. And she was still crying, and watching the door, and expecting him to walk in anytime, sing-songing "April Fool." Her story did not encourage my hope for easy return to normalcy.

Perhaps, some day, I will be willing to climb into bed - alone - at a normal time, keep the pillow dry, and slumber peacefully. I hope. Until then, I will keep tissue on my bedside table, and keep watching for her at every turn in my path, and behind every door I open.