23 May 2016
My blog was eight years old yesterday. Where has the time gone? It certainly doesn't seem like eight years, since I first felt compelled to get all my anger and frustration out onto internet paper, either boring or entertaining you with the minutiae of my life.
In the early days of the blog, Greg, my alcoholic husband, was still alive of course, knew I was writing it but showed absolutely no interest in reading it. His only interest back then was where the next bottle of whisky was coming from. Two years later he was dead and my blog turned from oozing frustration about his alcoholism to dealing with grief and the aftermath of a relationship with an alcoholic. Things are a lot calmer now and I have come to accept, albeit reluctantly, what happened. He's dead. I've known that for the last six years. I've accepted it. Moved on. I lead a different life now. Which made it all the more surprising, when four weeks ago, following hospital surgery and feeling very vulnerable, I came home to an empty house. It was then that it finally sunk in that he was never going to be here again and it hit me in the face like a sledgehammer.