Eight Months

Eight months ago today, my husband shot himself in the head.

At first, I was all caught up in financial problems. I think I was trying to avoid thinking about other things, like missing him for the rest of my life.

~the smile he would get when he said, "Honey..."~
~the soft grey hair all over his chest~
~driving with him in the Miata, in the dead of winter, with the top down and the heater on~
~the way he always misted up and the end of "A League of Their Own"~

...And trying not to think about finding him on the grass with a bullet in his head, still gasping...his body not willing to give up.

I haven't looked at his ashes. I am thinking of taking a bit of them to the theater and scattering them there. Of course, the largest part will be put with his parents', as he wished.

I still haven't forgiven him, but I am closer to understanding.