Fog

Some days I wake up in my bed. This are good days. I wake up and everything is where it should be. I wake up and I know I'm alone. Those are the good days know. When I know I'm alone. 

Other days I wake up, or come to, somewhere. Sometimes in the woods. Sometimes in my home but not my bed. Sometimes I wake up and I think you'll be there next to me. I think the kids will be down the hall, sleeping soundly. I'll  wake and not have you by my side and I'll think you went to the bathroom. But you don't come back. 

I have a live in nurse. I just don't always remember I have her. Sometimes I see her and I call the cops. I think some woman's breaking into my house. And then it clicks. The fog that's in my mind lifts and I remember. I feel bad when I remember. I cry a lot when I remember. All I want is to remember somedays, remember the way you smelled. Remember the kids names. Remember where you were buried. 

Billy came to visit last week. I think it was last week. It could have been last year though. I did;t recognize him. I talked to him for a while, I thought he was one of the neighbors. When I showed him old photos from when he was a child, and you were still around, he teared up. I didn't know why. Once he left it came back to me. 

Some nights the fog rolls in. It settles and makes everything hard to make out. I go to sleep each night not knowing if the fog will still be there in the morning. I go to sleep wondering how long you've been gone and how long I still have. One day the fog will stay and I'll be gone for good and I'll wonder how long our kids will remember me.