The first hundred days

Yesterday was the hundredth day I've been without Sandy. We look to the first hundred days of a presidency to set the tone for the term. Somehow I don't think that's applicable here.

I love the photos where I can see her almost accidentally -
it feels similar to her somewhat subtler presence now.

The first hundred days of widowhood are likely to be different from the second, third, and so on. Indeed, yesterday was different from the first day (shock, sleep deprivation, keening) or the thirtieth day (disbelief, fantasy, and yes, keening).

The physical pain is less constant. I find myself laughing more. I can concentrate on my work, and I'm getting a fair amount done around the house each day. Initially, I'd spend hours sifting through her papers or wandering through boxes that never made it out of the storage room when she moved in. Now I'm less likely to look up and realize three hours have passed unnoticed. But I'm more likely to be surprised by the suddenness of my emotion. I'll actually notice that I'm feeling good for a moment, and marvel at that, and a few minutes later, I'm sobbing.

After about a week of not feeling her presence, she's been around again the past couple of days. I keep trying to coax her to return. I know she's tired of my mantra: "Come back, come back, come back." If it were her choice—if she could opt to return in a fresh, healthy, energetic body—I'm pretty sure she still would.