Good morning Sunshine,
I keep weeding the yard. You would have had it done by now. I think the yard was loved at some point before us. We would have poured so much of ourselves into that yard. I’m pouring all of myself into it. It’s where I feel like I’m near you. Each day I go out I get a bag full of weeds before I call it. I’ve been running the sprinklers and I think we only have a minor leak. I know we were nervous about it when we moved in. I think it’s going to be okay though. I have a temporary fix until the guy gets out here.

I haven’t been able to sleep in our room since you died. I’ve been sleeping on the couch or in the guest room. When you were in the hospital the thing I missed was laying next to you. You used to roll over and hold me. I miss that still but I think I’d give anything to be able to have these conversations with you rather than on a blog.

I feel like the only thing keeping your memory from resting peacefully is all the phone calls I’m still having to make: medical bills, insurance changes, credit card cancelations. There’s no easy button. I wish their was. It’s exhausting having to say you’re dead over and over again. People saying sorry. I just keep trying to wake up every morning and eat. Remind myself to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t want to do this without you, but the dogs need me. Good thing probably, or I’d just sleep every day away. I love you so much. (This is where you’d tell me you love me more if you were here)