How can it be three months?

The grief washes over me.  The guilt pins me down.  I'd stay in bed all day if I could.  I'd drink lots of wine and smoke cigarettes.  And then I'd fall asleep with a lit cigarette in my hand and the house would burn down, and I wouldn't even care.  I'm not saying life without Mark isn't worth living, but I would like to take a break from life for a while.

In those first days I was still me.  I was "forging ahead" and "dealing with my grief" under all my old assumptions.  And Mark was still close at hand.  I could easily see him, feel his hug, hear his laugh.  Now it feels as though I've been set adrift.  The old assumptions don't hold.  I don't know who I am anymore.  And Mark feels very far away.

It's been three months.  How can it be three months?
  
Last week I had to drop my daughter off at the high school.  A group of boys was heading for the parking lot and crossed in front of my car, three boys messing around, moving the way teenage boys move.  It took my breath away.  Yes, I thought, that's the way skinny, awkward, little boy men move.  But I hadn't seen it in three months.  How can it be three months?

I miss my skinny, awkward, little boy man.

Everyone else has gotten back to their regular lives.  It's been three months, after all.