Currently I am holed up in my bedroom. I'm hiding really. I'm thinking about not leaving this bed until they come and take his body from the living room. The shell that's left is not my Chris. My Chris decided to leave here this morning, pretty soon after I had gotten to work. Before I left him this morning, I kissed his forehead and told him not to hang on for us. I told him to let go. We'll be fine with out him. It's the first lie I've ever told him. I look around me and just can't fathom. How? Why? What? I know at one point through this I remember saying if he has to go, please let it be quick and painless. I just didn't realize how quick. Silly and selfish really. I had a month to prepare for death. Most people don't even get that. Still, I feel at loose ends. Not sure really what the next step should be. So instead I've decided to hide on my bed with my laptop and write a blog entry. My comforter is blue. It's like a raft and I'm not leaving here. Not just yet.

There's no protocol for this. No step 1. So I'm making this up as I go. Step 1: Stay on this bed as long as I fucking can. The floor is lava. Step 2: Figure out all the other steps later. Some where in the protocol there is a spot for gratuitous profanity. Hell, fuck, damn, shit, mother fucker. I just broke my first rule and got off the bed to get out something for him to wear. It was only for a second. Burned my feet just a bit, but I'll be OK. I'll be OK.

I'm not a weeper or wailer type of person. I never have been. I've cried and shed my tears, but right now I'm all dried up. That may seem a bit heartless and cold. That's fine because I feel a bit heartless and cold. Remember, there's no protocol and I get to make it up as I go. I will say that I am so glad I called his mom when I did. I glad that she was here to say goodbye. I did that right.

But I'm not leaving this bed until they take his body. I'm just not.