Not so far. Not like I thought it would. In fact, it's getting harder. I don't know what it is...
I read somewhere that the second year of grief is often more difficult than the first. I'm starting to see that coming to fruition at the moment.
I'm just reminding myself to feel what I feel whatever that may be and keep moving forward. That's all I can do.
However, this new low point of mine has caused me to force myself to think of the things that made us laugh around the time of the funeral. Because even in such dark times, laughter still happens. And that's a wonderful thing.
Like cramming two car seats and five adults into one vehicle. Tom & Kristen having to haul themselves through the hatchback to get to their seats. Contorting myself into awkward positions in order to nurse Chloe en route. Getting all dressed up for the visitation and funeral did not excuse me from having to breastfeed. So having to all but undress myself to accomplish such a thing was something new and different... and hilarious. You know the saying "scared shitless"? That's a very true statement. I never knew that before Matt died. Planning the funeral in such a way that totally made us reminisce about Matt's GQ-esque, nothing-but-the-best, attention-loving personality. Like front row seating at the cemetery. And of course the two caskets that I immediately narrowed it down to happened to be of the more expensive variety. But that was Matt and that's what made the process bearable. Those little things.
I oftentimes imagine him showing up. It stops me in my tracks, literally. I have to take a moment to indulge my mind in this absurd fantasy of him coming back. Play it out for a minute... and then carry on. I stop in the middle of studying. I stop in the middle of walking up the stairs. I stop whatever I'm doing and just daydream.
Then there are certain topics that might come up during class that completely distract me. For example, in chemistry - my professor started talking about the gas in airbags. Then all I could think about was the airbag in Matt's Jeep. And the image of it from the photos of the car was all I could think about. Haunting. Completely normal topics of conversation can throw me off for a few minutes because even though I try so hard to not tie EVERYTHING back to July 20... sometimes it's unavoidable.
I've been planning Chloe's birthday party which is serving as a reality check. In my mind, she is still 3-1/2 months old; how old she was when Matt died. Where did the last eight months go? I was never crazy about recording specific dates of significant milestones with Noah but with Chloe, I've neglected doing so even more. I have no clue when she rolled over for the first time. Or when she made her first "dada" sound. I stopped taking monthly pictures of her right then. So I have her at one month, two months and three months. Then life stopped. I barely even remember significant details about her birth. What time was she born? I think it was 10:08... ? Something like that.
So here I am. Almost eight months later. It has been quite a blur. The funeral still feels like it was last week. I keep trying to remember things about Matt. The way he signed his name. How he felt in my arms. Playing Kinect and XBox (which I haven't touched since I packed it up). Running around the backyard with Noah. Swiffering the kitchen floor. The way he tied his tie. Painting the living room and kitchen (which, by the way, he left a hell of a job undone).
I was in the middle of re-doing Noah's bedroom to turn it into more of a toddler-friendly room. I spent hours painting that damn thing only to have to abandon ship and paint it all over with a neutral color before moving.
Speaking of which, I do still own our house in North Carolina and the more I think about it, the less I really care about selling it. If I have it forever... great! It's sentimental. I don't know what I'm going to do but right now, the thought of selling makes me kind of sad. Lucky for me, the market sucks.