Detached

I still have quite a few wedding pictures up at my house.

I love them.

They are so beautiful.

And it was a wonderful day in my life.

One of the best days of my life.

I have also taken quite a few down.

And I have started replacing some of the candid shots of us I had all over the house with new photos of friends and family.

The memory boards in the kitchen actually have no pictures of Roger.

The kitchen is a Roger-free zone.  

Which I think is a good thing.

I think...

Maybe.

I do have two wedding pictures in the niche right before my bedroom.

One is of Roger and I dancing during one of the few slow dances we played.

Maybe even the last, I cannot remember sadly.

The other is me in my dress at the altar after the ceremony.

I love this picture especially since our wedding was during lent.

There was a huge veil over the resurrection scene on the wall.

And the way I was standing in front of it, that veil looks like it continues down my back and blends with my actual veil.

I do not exactly see these pictures.

Yes they are there.

But I do not look at them.

I look mostly through them.

Or not in that direction just knowing they exist.  

But when I do, I have noticed something.

I do not feel like it is me in the pictures.

I feel so detached from them.

I feel like I am looking at someone else's beautiful wedding.  

Not mine.

It almost feels like the whole thing was a dream.

Like I was never married.

Which makes me sad.   

Perhaps it is some sort of coping mechanism?  

Perhaps by removing myself it hurts less?  

Ugh.