When Jim died, I never expected to find him in my bed when I woke in the morning. I did not experience denial, at least in the 'stages of grief' way I'd expected. I did not think he was coming home. When I woke up that first morning after the day he died, and indeed every morning ever since, I just knew he was gone, dead, at least in the physical world. I knew it in my soul, in my heart, in my very cells. As life started to begin around me and our family and friends went back to their…