Another week goes by. Another week in which I am reminded that MrW is not coming home. Of course it’s obvious he’s not going to be walking through the front door anytime soon (ever). I have him in a box on the bedside table. But still, it doesn’t seem real.
I’ve been busy though. Meeting up with friends and family. Turning my attention to the YWs' needs. More papers sorted and filed. I have been taking MrW’s clothes and shoes to the charity recycling bank. Not all of them but I have made a start. And that’s where I found more paperwork - buried under some old work shirts. It never ends.
I’m not looking after myself if I’m honest. I have not been taking my medication. That needs to change. I have booked myself in to start at the gym this week. I need to focus on my health. I think I might be a bit depressed. Everything seems to be too much. Making decisions is especially hard. I’m not sleeping.
And the big question: Who am I? I now realise that I have spent a lifetime trying to live up to other people’s expectations. What would make me happy? Other people being happy. Anything else? Having a nicer view than a block of flats out of my bedroom window. It’s early days.