It's been nine months since Sam's been gone. I still can't believe that he's never coming back. Am I crazy?

When I was a child and had nightmares I used to lay awake at night and make up a happy ending to my dream before I would fall back to sleep...happy. I'm 25 and I'm still doing it. I lie in bed every night and think about all of the wonderful things that will happen when Sam comes home. Because we've all watched General Hospital, right? There's always a reasonable explanation for a death that wasn't REALLY a death. The bodies were switched, amnesia is usually involved, or perhaps a mad man is keeping him holed up in some underground prison which is why he's unable to get in contact with anyone to let them know that he's alive. There will be a tearful reunion, and we'll go back to cuddling every morning before work and he'll cook his famous midnight feasts just like he'd never been gone...

Only I was about ten feet away from him when he pulled the trigger. I saw the blood, I saw parts of him on my kitchen floor, and on the bedroom walls. I have pictures of us that are stained with his blood. Yet I'm getting more and more impatient. When will I get to see him?

I guess the very tiny, rational voice in my head keeps telling me he's gone, but right now I just want to give him a hug and bury my face in the front of his shirt.