I keep thinking that I'm standing on solid ground, and then BAM! I get blindsided by a horrible, punched in the gut, feeling.
My house is a hard place to be. I don't have exclusive use yet, and therefore don't feel safe, but also because it's "us". Everything here is "us". We chose everything together, everything has a story behind it. I've had a love/hate relationship with our bedroom. When this all started I thought that I would never sleep there again, then I got comfortable with it, and then the sucker-punch. I just walked in to look around for a few minutes tonight and all of the hate melted away, and I remembered my Richie. I remembered the first night that we slept in this house. Victoria was a baby in the pack-n-play and Tristan slept on his little Sesame Street air mattress. We only had our bed set up, and although we didn't have two pennies to rub together we were happy, and so proud to be homeowners. And I remembered all of those nights when I would crawl in bed next to him and settle into the spot on his chest where I fit like a puzzle piece. He would say, "I love you baby" and I would fall asleep listening to his heart beat.
It's just unreal.
Where was I when he changed? Why didn't I know? Why didn't he tell me?
I don't miss him now. Really. I see him in a completely different way now, and his appearance, and his attitude make me physically ill. But I miss my Richie. I don't wish for him to come back, because that's just wasted energy, but I miss him from time to time.
I just wish that I would have had some warning, or had some clear signs. Something more than, "Something is off, but I can't put my finger on it and I have no proof".
I just wish that my brain would process it fully, and these moments would end.