Not today

Someday I know I'm going to have a day, then a week, then a month, then a year when I don't just want to give up. Today is not that day.

Supersize Me

I opened the cabinet with the though of cooking dinner.  That was as far as I got.  How is it that opening a cabinet in my kitchen...our kitchen...really Mark, let's not lie to ourselves...her kitchen, can cause the walls I build around my heart to dissolve like salt in the sea?  It's just food.  What I was looking for was a can of tomato sauce that Mom had brought over a few weeks ago.  What I found was memories of a time that I can't have again.  I will never again be able to feebly attempt to help her cook something.  She'll never again cook anything in that kitchen while I sit watching her, amazed at the ease with which she does everything.  McDonald's is a LOT less painful. 

Waiting

I keep waiting for this to get easier.  For there to be days, a day even, where I don't miss her with every breath.  Waiting for songs to remind me of good things, good times, instead of the fact that I can't hold her, hear her, see her, watch her, be with her. 
I recently took a trip with the youth from church to Nauvoo, IL to visit church historical sites.  I could feel the Spirit there.  Could feel of the sacredness of the Gospel.  I also felt pain and dispair.  Having completed an endowment session in the Nauvoo Temple, I was sitting in the final room where I normally would have feelings of peace and contentment.  Normally I would be sitting next to my wife.  That day all I could feel was how life wasn't supposed to be like this.  I wasn't supposed to be sitting there next to my dear friend Bill, I was supposed to be sitting there next to Carmen, basking in the glow of the Savior's love, feeling the comfort of the Spirit.  Instead I sobbed and sobbed with my heartbreak not diminishing but growing.  Bill, in his kindness, held me while I sobbed on his shoulder. 
My therapist said to expect at least a year of pain like this.  I don't know that I can take that.