Signs.

Embracing the unknown is a thrilling possibility. However, that embrace cannot take place when I'm still asking the universe why my Bill had to leave.

There is no right way to grieve. My days are roller coasters, starting with morning group humor from my incredible co-workers and typically ending with me eating my feelings and sleeping fitfully, waking confused from dreams that had me convinced that my new reality was the illusion.

I'm writing about it only because these are the accounts I seek out now to find commonalities and feel, even for a moment, less alone. And writing is my only solace.

Yesterday, I had a great start. I crossed major tasks off my list. I ate reasonable foods (not cookies and chocolate). 

And then I went to my house to pack. 

The upstairs is in reasonable shape, so I went down to the basement storage area. 

First it was the suitcase of little Vegas souvenirs. 

Then it was the box pushed way to the back of the top shelf. When I got a grip on it and tugged, the entire side of it fell away and two things slid out.

One was my wedding guest book. The other was the engraved cake server: 

Jennifer and Bill, September 18, 2010

I gave up on packing and found the ice cream, but the seeds of grief had already been planted. 

So then I found myself at the cemetery. I looked through my car for something to sit on, and while sifting through a baf of miscellany, found his 2013 union book. And it was while idly flipping through it that I found his latest message. 

I remember visiting him and writing "Best wife ever here" - I did not realize he wrote "very much so" the next day. I have been finding notes throughout the house as I've been packing, and had thought I discovered them all. Sitting there at the cemetery with this unexpected bonus was almost too much.

And then a hummingbird buzzed by and stayed over my head for a few extra seconds, and I knew these were his signs. Subtlety was never Bill's strong suit.

I laid there next to him, headphones in, listening to our music like we had countless times by the pond, and lost the final shreds of self control. Because it's NOT FAIR. It's not fair that he's not here to drive us crazy and tell the same stories over and over again and grill the perfect steak and spill his drinks all over the carpet and tell me how amazing I am, then in the next breath, how crazy.