Wednesday, March 30, 2011
OK. I have stories in mind but other stuff wants to come out of my fingers here. The voice of grief has a stronger voice that that of my storybook writer this morning.
My eyes are puffy. I can feel the swelling by my tear ducts. Yesterday, Dave was “inside.” He was not completely withdrawn; rather, he was contemplative, less talkative. Actually, he slept most of the morning. He has wondered whether he sleeps more. I’m not sure – compared to when? Yes, no, maybe… I don’t really know.