I've now cried on 90 consecutive days. I never imagined that I would come to know the experience of crying so intimately, to recognise so well the sensation, the distinctive noise, the smell and the taste of the tears themselves and the burning sensation that they leave in my eyes. All now are as familiar to me as breathing.
I've almost come to welcome the tears as a release and a sign of my love for Louise. Moments of honesty when I can put aside the outward pretence and just surrender to my inner voice crying out in pain. I wake up every day knowing that the tears will come. I just don't know when or whether it will be a flood or a trickle. There is no pattern and no apparent reason why some days should be more emotional than others. Every time I think that I've reached the point where the tears are drying up I find myself knocked sideways again.
Most people around me wouldn't know any of this. I still try and hide my tears from others. Although it has become routine to me I know that it makes them uncomfortable. They want to help. But in truth I don't need anybody with me when I cry. There is no consolation that can be given, nothing that can be done. Nobody can bring Louise back so I might as well cry alone. At least that way I can be as uninhibited, as distressed and, occasionally, as angry as I need to be without causing embarrassment to myself or others.
If truth be told I don't really want the tears to stop. They somehow represent an emotional connection with Louise, proof that I continue to feel for her in the present. She may be dead but my love for her is still very much alive. Its better to feel grief than nothing at all.