14 weeks today since the 911 call, Russ. I know I should stop the morbid counting but it feels like losing yet another piece of you if I do.

I did get the rawhide laced onto the second shield, baby. Just need the boss and handle now, and some finishing touches.

How is it 14 weeks from the day my world shattered? You should be here helping me. Playfully nudging me out of the way, saying, “Don’t hurt myself.” to me the way you always did. You’d be tsking over the scrapes on my hands and making me sit down and rest.

You should be here.

I try to focus not on the image seared into my brain of finding you on the couch, but of the good memories of us together spending time on the comfy couch. But then I hold one of your shirts that I haven’t been able to wash yet and cry because it doesn’t smell like you anymore and my heart breaks all over again.

Please keep sending me songs, baby. Keep whispering in my ear, because I’m listening for you. And thank you for visiting my dreams. One day we’ll be together again, but it’s going to feel like fucking forever until we are.

Love you, my Viking. Sweet dreams. 🥰💖😘

14 weeks.
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