It's Sunday morning.  I wake up feeling sad.  The house is now so empty without Gene that the silence is deafening.  Gene had a presence that filled the house.  Now that's gone.  I want to cry, I want him back.  How can this be happening to me?  We had plans, Gene and I, to grow old together and do a little traveling--the Grand Canyon, Charleston, Oregon, Puerto Rico.  All the dreams shattered, my life taken away.  I struggle just to get out of bed now, holding back the tears that come in waves, never knowing when the grief will overwhelm me and leave me feeling alone and exhausted.  Where do I go from here?  I have no answers now, only questions.  Why did Gene have to die?  Why were we blessed with such a perfect love only to have it taken away in one heartbeat?  Instead of living life, I'm muddling through everyday, confused and withdrawn, trying to hide my grief behind a facade that could shatter at any moment.  The days go by, one by one, as I count the time since Gene's been gone.  One month, two months, now five.  I live by a calendar that's marked by small accomplishments--getting through a day without crying, making it through a day of work.  The life that use to run so normally, everything in order, is now chaos.   Can I make it through the store today without breaking down?  I make deals with my mind.  Just get me through six hours of work and then I can come home and let the grief flow, lay in bed and cry if I want.  That's what I'm doing now, crying, grieving, hurting.