Sleep doesn't come easily when he's not here. My body's routine of listening to his breathing and movement, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my cheek and arm as I'm wrapped around him, smelling his scent around me and feeling his hand on the small of my back is gone, and I'm not adjusting to the silence. To the loneliness of being in this big bed without him. To having to have an extra blanket on the bed to make up for his warmth being gone.
It seems that it hits me the hardest at night. The reality that he's not here, and won't be for a long time, sinks in. And my body just isn't willing to relax and fall into sleep without him. I have a feeling that this is when I'll do the most writing, when the kids are safely tucked in and snoring, the infomercials are flashing on my television and my cat is curled up in her sleepy spot at the foot of the bed, impervious to my restlessness.
I miss him, in a thousand different ways, but its now that it hurts the most. Like a toothache that I can't soothe, and there's nothing that can ease the pain of being without him.