“That Must’ve Been Hard”

October 28, 7am.

The weather is cold. The first freeze of the season. I’m getting ready to get Nora outside.

I pull the bin of winter gear down from the nook shelf. Jason’s gloves, ski face gator, all in there. I pick them up, smell them. Hold them close to my face. Slide the gloves on my fingers. Take it off, put it back in the bin and back on the self.

I open the closet for my winter jacket. It sits next to all of Jason’s jackets. I touch each one. Thinking about the memories and happiness that existed in each. I imagine him slipping into his orange Helly Hansen to take Nora outside on a morning like this.

I open the door Nora runs to the gate. Great… the neighbor dog.

His owner happily goes “how are you guys, I’ve been thinking about you”.

Plural. Doesn’t she know Jason’s dead.

I shyly say “you know Jason passed away right.”

“Oh yes, how terrible that must’ve been, so sad for you.”

Must’ve.

She carries on to say how wonderful he was. She’s blabbing but I don’t really hear half of what she says.

Must’ve, like it’s all over now.

She then says “you’re doing ok now right.”

Hum, my favorite version of my favorite question. When someone not only asks me how I am, but they put “good or ok” at the end, implying that I should be those things.

I say “no not really.”

She kind of stutters, then blabs some more. About taking it one day at a time, hours, minutes. Sure ok. She says “we are always here”, but the proceeds to tell me about their travels, their daughter around my age who is having a baby in January.

Must’ve.

I use Nora as needing to go out as an excuse to get away.

Must’ve.

I wonder if she knows what she said. Or if they are just words to her, not knowing the impact of the weight they carry.

“That must’ve been hard”.

Yeah, it was hard.

But it’s still hard every second of every day.

I’d argue, probably even harder than when he was sick and here, or the experience of him dying.

Hard is waking up every single day without Jason.