A little rambling on the relativity of time

It's been six months since Deb passed away, but it feels like yesterday and 100 years ago all at the same time.

I can still feel her head under my chin. I can still feel her hand in mine. I can still remember what it felt like to run my thumb along her chin when caressed her cheek. I can even feel her squeezing my tush if I stop and think about it.

But it seems like forever since she's been gone, since I held her, since we kissed.

It felt like that when we were together. We only knew each other for 5 3/4 years, but it always felt like we'd been together forever and that we had just met. Then, it was a good feeling. Now, not so much.

I used to go into stores, see things I know she liked and automatically think, "Deb would really like that," then have to stop myself from getting it. Now I find myself thinking, "Deb would have liked that" more often.

Slowly, painfully, she's becoming past tense.

Some things have become easier. I can listen to songs we used to sing to in the car without automatically breaking into tears. I can talk about her without having to excuse myself for a good cry. I even went to Disney World by myself and didn't spend the whole time thinking about who should have been sitting next to me.

I've even started getting used to coming home and not finding her in the recliner, watching "Countdown with Keith Olbermann."

But I haven't stopped missing her.