I have been having a weird thing happen lately. I will be going about my day and suddenly my heart is beating too fast. My breath catches. There is a pounding in my ears and an overwhelming wave of panic hits me. Every time, the same phrase comes into my mind: Where is he?
It doesn't matter, really. He's not here. And suddenly the tears come, the ache settles in my chest and it all hits me, again and again.
I talk about him all the time. With my kids, my family, my friends. I cry and talk about him with my (endlessly patient, amazingly wonderful) boyfriend. With my therapist. With the women in my support group. With complete strangers, who somehow manage to touch upon a subject that brings him to mind.
I talk about him joyfully. I talk about him with awe. I talk about him while my mending heart breaks again, bleeds a little more.
As the one year mark of his death gets closer, I get flashbacks of this time last year. I think of all the things I could have... should have... done differently. I think about all of the moments we stole before he slipped away.
And I still hear it, every time. Where is he?