Weekends are the worst

We used to love the weekends. The weekend was our time for tuning the rest of the world out and devoting our attention to each other. Even if it meant running errands, doing grocery shopping, or maybe making a big pot of soup together - all of it was fun because we did it together.

Now, the weekends remind me even more [as if that were possible!]  that John is not here. And to make matters worse, every Sunday night is a reminder of the day John left, the night I woke up to find him already gone.
I know no way to get beyond this. The silence in this house echoes. What I would give to just go to sleep and wake up wherever John is. I can't bear the thought of living without him. I know I will for as long as I am supposed to but each day just drags into the other. I don't know how other women do this. The death of a loved one is awful. My own would be so welcome.