As of yesterday, I have been without Pete for 1000 days and nights.
No wonder I’m exhausted. Exhausted thinking about it. Exhausted living it. What sounds like such a short time within a lifetime is such a long time when you count the days. I would make a really bad prisoner with my chalk marks on the wall of the cell.
I don’t even know what made me think to check and see how many days it has been since Pete died. A few weeks ago I just looked it up and I was stunned. One thousand. I can’t even imagine taking the time to count to 1000 out loud—that would feel like an eternity.
I’m grateful that I’ve had 1000 more days myself, and I pray for thousands more to spend with my family. It illustrates to me just how much can happen in 1000 days. How much can be done. How much could be wasted. I know I’ve done some of both in this timespan.
That’s 1000 days of having to imagine I hear him playing his guitar. 1000 days of walking through the front door and realizing there’s nobody home but me. 1000 nights of pulling back the covers and still sleeping on my side of the bed.
I’ve had 1000 days to figure out how to find some new meaning in my work.
1000 days to listen to the outrageous news of our time and try and figure out why people are so pissed off at each other when they should be grateful to be able to walk the earth.
1000 days to try and not lose a single memory of a single day we spent together.
1000 days of figuring out how to express my grief in this blog without running everybody off.
1000 days to find gratitude for every day we did have together and to find a way to look forward.