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i've started feverishly writing these memories of jim and i.  things we did, how it felt when we were together, the timeline of our romance.  there is an urgency in the knowledge that these are all i have left.  and time will continue to take from me.

how it felt when he held me and i could feel his heart through his chest.  i never felt more comfort than when i was being held, listening to the rhythm.  we were homebodies, and a lot of our afternoon when the kids napped would just be together.  he might be playing a video game or we could be in our bed with the windows open, breeze blowing in when it was nice weather.  just laying there, together, boom, boom, boom- the rhythm pounding out my life with him.  safe, boom, boom, boom. secure, boom, boom, boom.  protected, boom, boom, boom.

viewings are weird.  for me, it was important to see him one last time, for the believability aspect of everything.  the last time i had seen him before his death he was alive and fine.  i had to see him to believe it sort of thing.  but it's so hard, because everything is cold and harsh.  in the viewing everything felt different, his lips were waxy, his hands cold as ice, but when i lay my head on his chest, it felt the same.  it brought me back to everything, the safety, the comfort, the absolute serenity i felt when i would hear his heart through his shirt.  and i had to say goodbye to it.  i remember just standing there with my head on his chest, bawling, swearing that i would always love him.

the permanence of everything is setting in, deeply.  never again will his arms encircle me, protecting me from the dangers of this world.  never again will his lips brush my forehead, carrying with them all my worries and fears.  never again will my phone beep with a text telling me he misses me and the kids.  never again will i run my fingers across his stubble and relax into his embrace.  never again, never again.

why couldn't you hold on my love?  why couldn't you hold on?



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dating in 2016, also huge LOL at even posting this.

Half of me can’t even believe I am writing this post.  Dating is gruesome, isn’t it?  Like most of life, I suppose.
The weekend that Jim died I was standing there, a wreck, while my phone was blowing up.  Alayne goes “who is texting you so much?”
I respond “oh those are just my tinder matches” 
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again, it’s a tough sell.