Nine months.

39 weeks.

273 days.

3/4 of a year.

That’s how long it has been since I held the hand of the man whom I spent more than 3/4 of my life loving. I miss him every single minute of every single day.  Yes, I have been going through the motions, doing all the things, but he is always front and center in my heart and mind.

I miss Chuck more every day.  I miss his physical presence and being able to talk to him about the big things and the small, silly ones. I miss hearing his voice, calling him on my way home, and having him lovingly tease me. I miss opening the door when I get home and seeing him sitting in the recliner or standing in the kitchen prepping for dinner. This leaves me melancholy.

Sometimes it is difficult to stay present in the moment. When I am with my grandchildren, I keep thinking about how proud Chuck would be of them, how happy he would be to see them growing into themselves, and how tenderly they are taking care of me. When I am in other places with people, I look around and wish he could be sharing them with me. This makes me reflective.

As I move through my days, I think about what he would think or how he would react to certain situations. It is not always with sadness, though.  No, the kids and I lovingly add Chuck’s quotes to various situations, mimicking the way he would say them, the inflections. Imitation is the highest form of flattery after all. The last three nights, I have taken up his mantle of yelling at the TV while watching Phillies games. His blood pressure would have been through the roof, witnessing the ninth-inning comebacks. This makes me smile.

I will continue to go through the motions and do all the things until they become easier to do on my own. Grief is a sucker punch to the gut, but it doesn’t have to bring you to your knees every day. On days that it does, I just sit and let it have its way, other days, I pack it up and carry it with me.  This makes me stronger.

Love lives on.