Steve and I had a friend who lost his wife last year. I remember that friend saying, "Everything has changed, I even think different." Now I know what he meant.
When I used to wake up, I would start my day praying for that miracle. Now, when first up, I think of Steve, usually because I'm alone in bed. And the remote is mine as I put on his robe and turn on the channel I choose. I go in and make coffee the way I like it. There is no reason not to. I fill the house with my music and candles scents. I walk outside to the deck, no longer tied to a ringing bell. And I leave my phone inside. Something unheard of 3 weeks ago. I take my keys to go and do not need to call someone to come and stay. I leave no note on the counter. And when I stop the car there is no hurry. No one is waiting for me to get back so they can leave. I'm not worrying about if Steven can communicate what he needs while I'm gone.
All this doesn't mean I don't mourn or miss him something terrible. It means there are moments where having things my way can make me smile.