It's been 4 weeks since they told me you died. Exactly 4 weeks since I found myself standing outside your unit, crying lightly, and shaking; Summer hiding terrified beneath the bed that still supported your empty body - empty because you were gone from us all by then. 4 weeks and this still feels like a nightmare I have yet to wake from.
I didn't write you yesterday. I was too tired after M visited. We took the dogs for a pack walk -- were you watching? How you must have laughed; K off ahead with Missy, little Mb waddling along, and Summer dragging me along in spurts. Walking her is definitely supposed to be your job, trashjockey.
Notes from yesterday, because I was too tired to write to you. 1. You bastard! There are easier ways to get out of putting up the Christmas lights, you know. 2. Seriously, who's gonna buy me a birthday cake now? 3. You're supposed to be here to do all this stuff with, slimebiscuit.
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