It’s cruel to say I’m pleased… Isn’t it? Perhaps. I just know… I just so certain I feel some relief. I hate it- I really do. There’s just some pert part of me that harbors a sigh. Not a loud distinct sigh, mind you- but a sigh nonetheless.

I can’t stop biting my lip. It’s horrid looking and constantly scabbed over. Lately all I taste is iron. Because it’s over.. Oh my God it’s over.

I guess before now there was always a hope-a very faint hope- but still a hope… That one day the slumber would cease, and we would just pick back up our lives and act as though a year had not passed.

I’m wicked; horribly, horribly wicked. If I was good at all… If I was a good girl… I would be crying. I can’t cry. I can’t mourn him. I’m such a bad girl, stuck in this never-ending state of ill response with no empathy. Only an abundance of apathy.

Here’s wishing it would rain. At least the dripping of drops down my cheeks would create the illusion of tears. Something… Anything to shrug off some of this nothingness.

I can barely stand to read his name. I only close my eyes and run my fingers over the letters where they create rifts and imprints in the black granite. Which is him??? The granite or the lifeless thing beneath? Wow, I feel so dark. So very, very dark.

The trees interspersed throughout the graveyard have much more movement than I. It’s sad really, how he dies and I feel dead. Wasn’t it just the other day I hoped… wished… prayed… for this? I am such a hypocrite. And a loser, I mean who hopes for their lover to die? I mean who hopes for their lover to die? Me, obviously.

It was just… He’d been gone for so long. I just wanted to move on… I just wanted to mourn and be done with it. It was so hard- God, it was so hard. I felt comatose seeing him only laying there. It was as if he was with me… but not really. Torture.

So, yes- I am. I am happy he died. Finally it’s over. He was in a coma for 22 months and I just sat there and watched him… die. Watched myself die. I honestly thank God it’s over. I thank God he died.

Standing, rising to my feet, I turn from his grave and walk from the cemetery, walk from the pain of loss, depression, apathy and nothing less. Understanding, finally that it has ended. I take a deep breath.