He's gone... He's gone and he's not coming back.

That's what I have to remind myself every morning before I open my eyes. If I don't, I'll see the empty bed again and expect him... I don't know how many more times I can run through this house looking in room after room not finding him.

I know he's gone...

He can't come back, it's not his choice.

It's not his choice because he died

He died because he believed in what he was doing.

It's the mantra I go through several times a day, starting with waking up, and ending with sleeping.

say it, wake up. make one meal not two and say it again. get in the car and drive to work, say it as you walk to the doors. work and pause at each smiling couple that passes, say it again. get home, say it before you pull up, then again when you go in the front door. Remind yourself no lights will be on. No one will be greeting you and say it once more as you lock and chain the door because no one's coming in after you.

say it after every drink you pour, until you can't remember what you're suppose to say... then say it again.

It's how I've been living for the two months since they showed up at my door in uniform, hats off, and sad looks on their face as I stared in stubborn disbelief.

Shot on duty. It was just a kid. a panicked kid who was scared and Alfred didn't follow code. He put away his gun and get trying to talk the kid down. he took one step to close and- He didn't suffer long. It was quick and the shots fired after took the boy he'd tried to save down with him.

even his last efforts wasted.

like he'd died for nothing.

but no. repeat. say it again. He died because he believed in what he was doing.

What he believed was stupid and soft.

I haven't trusted a thing since he died, but I haven't cared much either. 'reckless carelessness' is what the therapist calls it. the therapist Alfred's insurance pays for to comfort the grieving husband left behind by his death.

thank god marriage was legalized... I never would have made it through the hoops otherwise. though I've been comforted and assured his prescient will take care of me as long as I need.

they still show up at the house if no one hears from me in a few days.

They're polite. Ignoring the empty bottles... a few even helping to clean up. they ignore the rolling machine and the smell of pot.

some nights it's the only way to fall asleep. get high, close my eyes and pretend he's there. tell my mantra to fuck off, turn off my phone, push the therapist advice out and just imagine he's there. He's still whispering in my ear.

He always whispered the weirdest things. from telling me about how much a whale weighs on average, to a new planet they discovered, to how much he wanted to have a baby with me...

That last one is the worst. it was horrible having to deal with the adoption agency... I had forgotten, in my grief, the appointment for the woman to show up. a week after he died, when he was barely in the ground, she was on my door.

they had to take me to the hospital. No one willing to leave me alone. once i was out I threw myself into work. they told me to take time, but i needed something to take away time. there were too many hours in that house. every tick mocking me.

I take a final deep breath and open my eyes. the sunlight filtering in, the alarm buzzing beside me. I stare at the ceiling, then at the empty space beside me. I get up, I say it again. I get dressed, say it again, I leave without breakfast, say it again with every cop car I pass... just say it again, and again, and again...