I'm not sure what the official name for the stage of grief that I find myself in is called. But I'm ready for Dan to come back.
I mean, I did the funeral and the packing up of the stuff and the crying after the funeral.
And I did the "I can't believe he's gone" and the "I wish I'd been kinder, nicer, better" round of discussions with friends and family.
And the stage where I kinda forgot he was gone and in the back of my mind while focusing on other work, I'd construct these conversations with him, like you do with a live person that you're fighting with. I'd do my side of the conversation and then imagine his response, how he'd stay sober if I had him move back in, and I'd feel better thinking I'd figured it out and then that stream of thoughts would move to the upper most part of my thinking and, boom, it would hit me. Doesn't matter what persuasive position I pose to him in my mind, the man is gone.
But now I've decided I'm finished with grieving. Dan can come back now.