2013

Tomorrow is your birthday. Your friends are meeting at your grave and later for lunch by the lake. They invited me to come with. I wish you'd be 68 tomorrow.

We spent the past week skiing, all three of us with our families. You would have been proud of us, we didn't fight, hardly, anyway. We were kind of tidy. Tom and I were skiing all by ourselves for the first time in two years because Tonie loves being with her two Uncles and her two tiny cousins.

We are back home since Friday. I am not well. The crushing pain is now a sinking pain. It drags me down numbingly. I am terribly tired, I have difficulties falling asleep. I watch one episode of friends after the other at night. What a relieve that there are 10 Seasons. Once I'm done I'll start with Sex and the City. I am sick of packing bracelets and the orders keep coming. 

I dreamed of you for the first time since you died. Twice. You were with me.

I miss you. More and more every day. It does not become better, right now it feels like it's getting worse. I love you. You were so difficult and so special and I loved you. Please come back. 

Tomorrow I'll try again. To look for the happy stuff.