Learning to sleep

I went three weeks before I even considered getting in our bed. I turned it into a filing cabinet, with stacks of sorted mail,bills, and papers to be looked at, put away, or contacted. I felt revulsion at the thought of climbing in between the sheets without you on the other side.

Finally, in desperation of sleep, I decided to try. The first night was awful. I woke up every thirty minutes or so, in a cold sweat, panicked, searching for you with my hand in the darkness. It met nothing but empty coldness where you should be laying. My heart shriveled up even more than the black, twisted thing it had already become. But I stuck it out.

The next night, I went back, armed with the clothes you had on when they took you to the hospital, which have become my security blanket. I carried them around with me everywhere for the first few weeks, only resorting to keeping them in the bedroom, on your pillow, when a friends little one drug them out of my chair onto the floor. He didn't know any better but I don't want people touching them. They still carry your scent.

Now, a week later. I have a routine worked out and some comfort in the ritual. I framed and hung a collage of pictures of you above the headboard. I turn your pillow sideways so that I can feel something of you up against my back. I put the picture of you that looks like your looking straight at me beside the bed. and I cling to those clothes. And eventually, I sleep.

So I guess I'm learning to sleep without you. But its not a lesson I ever wanted to learn.