I spend Saturday evening chatting on the phone with nameless; ex-wife. We chatted for over an hour about our grief and disbelief. Outside of that, I spent the majority of my time not thinking about him. I'm in a different place of the grief process than before--not to say that I've reached a different place along the arbitrary stages of grief of the mainstream; everything is still the same, but the flavor has changed it seems.
I've dreamed of him again, a night after the last dream here mentioned.
The recurrence is that he's always running away from me: in anger, in fear.
I keep waiting for something to give. The pain of grief is a slow churning of emotions that have lost their medium of travel. It's as if I've been waiting for it to be over with; or like I'm waiting for him to show up resurrected from the grave, so I can tell him what's been going on since he's left.
He meant so much to me, but it was a relationship that was horribly mistreated. The habitual part of me can't remember him past he and I's sexual behavior; I believe that this figure of he in my dreams running away from me is evidence of non-rendered repentance. As if I'm the one holding on to the fowl nature of our relationship. I'm the one still craving his body, and I'm the one who's still wanting him as he was.
I dislike who I've remained as a result of this. I'm angry about what I'm left without, but the reality is this: prior to his death we were both on a path that would lead to he and I's departure. I can't spend the rest of my life missing someone that--even not in death--would have inevitably had to end.