I thought I had that one dialed.
I thought I had the “smile, nod, thank you for your condolences and walk away” routine down pat.
I thought that no matter who offered their condolences, I would be able to just walk away with a heavy heart and a silent “I miss you Mark” while holding on to his pendant.
I thought wrong.
I have been out of the dating game for a long time. One of the words of advice given to me, is regardless of what *I* know my sexual history is, it’s helpful to have my OWN STI results in hand if I’m going to insist on someone else getting them before we have sex.
So, thinking ahead logically, I ask my doctor to run an STI screen. Two of the tests involve blood work so up to the lab I go.
(Did I ever mention that prior to getting sick, Mark required blood work EVERY. SINGLE. WEEK. ??? They knew him by name.)
The lovely lab technician looks at my name. Asks me all the pertinent questions. Then says, “Why do you look familiar?”
“Mark Smith” I reply. “He was my husband.”
And then the condolences. And a little story about how my best friend’s husband was working at her house, how my daughter was working at her house when a call came to bring the boys down.
And again more condolences.
I barely made it out of the hospital (it’s a freaking small hospital, just so ya know. The front door is 20 steps from the lab) before the tears started.
I miss him. I miss him SO. FUCKING. MUCH.
It hurts that he’s not here. It hurts that he’s not around. It hurts that I go to bed without him every single night. It hurts to wake up without him every single day.
What hurts most of all is that when this happens, when I turn into sad, emotional, grieving widow who can’t stop crying… he’s NOT HERE. I can’t go to him and get hugs and love and feel safe and feel like everything is going to be all right because the reason things are NOT all right is because he died.
I miss him.