We went to church. I cried pulling into the parking lot knowing I wouldn't hear your voice or see tears in your eyes during worship. I looked over and Amaya said "we don't have to go", I took a deep breath and opened the car door. I don't even remember a time I have driven to church, I had never noticed how odd some of the cars park in the side lot we always park in, it isn't what I do. We both know I'm usually still putting my makeup on or finding a song on Spotify. As we walked into the double doors, Amaya didn't leave me for donuts or her friends, she wouldn't go to class. I guess she gets that from you, her need to take care of me, to stay close by in case I suddenly cry or need a hand to hold. You've helped raise her well. 

I stood through worship song after worship song knowing I could not sing along. No sounds could have escaped me that wouldn't cause a flood to follow. But I stood. I saw people we interact with daily. They nodded with sympathetic eyes and some left their seats to hug me. I just kept taking deep breaths, it is now the thing that gets me through. Afterwards, I saw a sweet friend, one who I knew had prayed faithfully for you to get well, a part of me wanted to run but I knew she needed a hug and assurance that I am okay. I am not, but I assure people I am, which I know would irritate you to no end if you were here. When we spoke she said "I just don't want you to feel like you're alone", she is an angel. Literally on this earth an angel. I am alone though my heart cried. I am alone. I gathered myself the best I could and I made it out of the building without talking or eye contact. 

Normalcy is something I'm trying so hard to fake, for my sanity, for Amaya's sake. I drove to LaCocina after church as usual and we were seated quickly as usual. The owner came by and with hope in his eyes he asked "your husband, he doing better?" I couldn't believe it. I broke and I could feel the tears start to fill my eyes. Why did I go to eat? I've avoided the public since I got home from the hospital seven days ago, why did I do that to us? 

Seven days ago I walked out of a hospital I had lived in for three weeks. Seven days ago I held your hand for the last time.  Seven days ago I lost all of the hope I had for a miracle. Seven days ago I lost you forever. No matter how many more seven days go by at a time I will never be the same. I have prayed every day for seven days that I can see you somehow, that God gives me a piece of you throughout my day so I know you are with me. On the seventh day I still look over to your side of the bed when I am getting ready from the master bath so you can tell me how I look or that I am going to be late, I still cry, I still take deep breaths to get myself together and I still say I am okay. On the seventh day I still miss you. 
xoxo Cassandra