Thursday marked the one-year anniversary of my husband’s suicide, and the day my world fell apart. I can’t believe I’ve survived twelve months, it feels like such an unreasonably long time. I hate even saying it out loud. One year. I don’t feel ready to be in my second year of grieving, it’s still too soon, too raw, too unbelievable.
I can no longer think ‘this time last year we were…’ I can no longer tell people he died ‘recently’ or ‘a few months ago’.