Nights.

Nights are the hardest.  

Days aren't so bad - I get up, go to work, see people, keep busy.  My mind is distracted most of the day.

But then I come home.  Once it gets dark outside (and now that it's December, darkness begins around 9am - kidding...), the loneliness kind of just wraps itself around the house. 

I'm a homebody.  Once I get home, I like to stay there.  Especially in the winter.  I try to do any errands on my way home from work so I can come home and robe up.

Robe up.  That was a thing we did.  If Sean had his way, he would have lived in his robes. I mean, he pretty much did anyway.  He wore it in the house, wore it to grill dinner in the backyard, wore it to walk the dog.  It wasn't an uncommon sight to see his strolling outside in his robe and slippers, taking Lexi for her walk. Once he started working from home, it was pretty much his standard uniform.  

I used to tease him that his choice of outdoor outfits was the reason we were never invited to the neighbors for a BBQ.  Once I was in for the night, he would look at me and say "well, time to robe up!" and it would be robes for the rest of the night.  And he had many.  Robes for cold weather, robes for summer, robes for when we traveled, a silk robe, a traditional white terrycloth robe, a grey Ugg robe (which I have made a part of my wardrobe now) a short robe with a tiger on it (because my husband was so understated in all his clothing choices - insert eye roll here) and the one he died wearing.

Anyway, nights.  My nights used to be the standard married couple evening - we'd cook dinner, eat, clean up, play the dishwasher game (where the person who opens it first after it stops running has to empty it), settle down on the couch, watch some tv, laugh at whatever antics the dog was doing, then go to bed.  

Once we were in bed, he'd ask me what I wanted to listen to and turn on some music.  We would talk about everything and nothing, sing along with whatever was playing, kiss each other good night and say the same thing we said to each other every night. 

"Good night, my love."

"Good night, Princess."

Sean would usually fall asleep first.  And that could be a nightmare.  His snoring was like a freight train.  But I had gotten used to it.  If I was tired enough, I could fall asleep no matter what.

But now...now I just lie in our bed.  I stare at the ceiling.  I snuggle with my little dog, who's bed now resides on Sean's side of the bed.  Every week or so, I spray a t-shirt of his with his cologne and use it as a blanket for her.  She falls asleep right away.  I just lie there.

And Nights are when those irrational fears creep in.

(And yes, I understand these may seem ridiculous to you, but when you are sleep deprived, ridiculous thoughts seem to populate the brain.)

Fear #1: I die in my home and no one is there to help or save me, and Lexi gets hungry and eats my right arm before my body is discovered.

Fear #2: I come home from work to find Lexi no longer among the living.

Fear #3: I, somehow, lose my wedding rings, and in doing so, lose the diamond that was once Sean's that he had reset into my engagement ring. Insurance can't replace something so priceless to me.

Fear #4: money - what if someone manages to steal my money from my all my accounts or compromises my cards?  What would happen? How would I pay my rent or pay my bills?

And if it's not an irrational fear, it's just reliving and questioning those last memories with him.  

Did I say goodnight that last night?  Did I tell him I loved him?  Did I kiss him goodnight or was I just so exhausted that I fell asleep almost instantly.  How long was he lying next to me that morning before he got out of bed?  Did he know what was happening and that's why he put his robe on? Was he in pain? How long was he awake before I woke up?  Did I take too long to call 911?  Did I not do compressions hard enough?  Could he hear me as I screamed and cried for him to stay with me?

And no matter what it is - the irrational fears or the reliving  the moments, the worst part is, I'm there, alone, without him to calm me down.  Without him to hold me when I cry. Without him to tell me that it will be ok and that he loves me.  There are no back rubs, or forehead  kisses, or serenades of Lovesong.

There's nothing but quiet.

And it's the loudest fucking sound in the world.