Marianne, 45

Today was a normal day at school. I taught Invisible Man, a book I've enjoyed teaching since they added it to the curriculum. A kid asked me if I was okay and I said I was tired and he said okay and went back to his desk.

It's been five months. People told me the five-month mark would be better than the three-month mark and I think they were lying or they were talking about a different kind of loss. It is not better. It is the same and I'm just more tired.

I keep waiting to feel something other than this and I don't. I wake up and for about four seconds I don't remember and then I remember and my chest does the thing it does. I've heard people describe it but I never expected it to feel this way. It's under my sternum and it feels like a hand closing. I've read that this is a real thing that happens to grieving people and knowing that does not make it stop.

I came home and sat in the car in the driveway for twenty minutes before going inside. I do this most days now. The house is fine, the house is not the problem, but the moment of walking in is the moment I have to remember all over again that no one is there. In the car I can pretend I'm about to go inside to him. Once I'm inside I can't pretend anymore.

I made a sandwich for dinner. I didn't eat it. I put it in the fridge and I'll probably throw it away tomorrow. I've been doing this for weeks. Making food and not eating it. I don't know why I keep making it. Maybe because making dinner is what I used to do. Maybe if I keep doing it something will come back.

When people ask me how I am they want me to say I'm learning to live with it or I'm finding small moments of peace. I'm not, but I give them the grace. I'm just getting through days and then the days end and then there's another day. My sister keeps sending me articles about grief counseling. I haven't opened any of them. I will eventually. Not yet.

Tonight I looked at his side of the bed for a long time before I got in. I used to think the saying about missing someone so much it hurts was an exaggeration people used when they didn't know what else to say. It isn't. It hurts. I don't think it's ever going to stop. People tell me it will, and that's what I tell myself before I try to sleep.