It's the uncertainty of these WAS's that makes them so hard to bear, isn't it? If he was gone for good, at least you could begin to move on. Or if he was just "dark." But where he toys with the idea of coming back, but never actually does it...that's rough.
Been surfing through some Emily Dickinson poems on bartleby.com lately. Here's a line that made me think of us here on this site:
I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that. But the least push of joy Breaks up my feet, And I tip—drunken. Let no pebble smile, ’T was the new liquor,— That was all!
