Grief doesn't go away just because time passes

A friend of mine who is also blogging about her grief wrote that it was a revelation to her that she still feels grief - at times intensely - after over two years' time. She knows she appears to be all right on the outside but she really is not on the inside.
Her post really resonates with me. I too seem “okay” on the outside but I am still a bowl of tears and grief on the inside. And it doesn’t take much for the tears to bubble up to the surface. It’s two years and 4 days for me. Yesterday I bawled and cried to the heavens. I clung to John’s bathrobe and just sobbed. It just came over me. I was just straightening up our bedroom and the feelings that he was no longer physically here, that I couldn’t hug him, couldn’t talk to him and hear his voice [except in my head], couldn’t see his smile, could just “be” with him just overcame me. And it was May 24, 2010 all over again.
I keep a journal that I write to John. I share things in there with him about my day, my thoughts, etc. And it helps a little but of course it’s not the same. I am planning things to do over the next few months and I look forward to those things. But underneath it all, with every step, with every activity – with every breath – is the overriding thought “John’s not here, John’s not here.” And like my friend, it’s the little everyday things that make the sorrow more intense – making a meal, playing with the furbabies, shopping at Costco. I can’t pass a men’s clothing counter in a department store without getting upset.
I feel like I am walking around with a huge hole in my chest that you can actually see through. John was “home” to me and now my home is gone. I am a homeless person. All I have are things. I would give them all up and live under a bridge in a refrigerator box if it would bring John back.
I don’t know if I will ever feel any differently from how I feel now. I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to feel OK with John’s absence. And the thought of happiness is totally foreign now. There are occasions of okay-ness and if that’s all I get now, I can live with that. I don’t expect more and I really don’t want more. All I want is John and I know I won’t have that again until I leave this world.