He got put down yesterday and the reality of that and what it means for returning to a empty house hits me in waves at different intervals. My heart goes out to my husband who is dealing with this alone, at home. In some selfish way being here makes it easier as momentarily I am lost in conversations without the urge to check he's not at my feet, or waiting on the sofa and I can escape the fact that he is not there any more because I am here. But on this 'turning away' I know I have to almost tread through this grim grief twice.
Last night when we (the magic number) sat on the beach until all we could see was the dark and the foam on the waves I feel like I have lost something very special and the landscape that surrounds me thrives on this somber.
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