Matt. I wish I could tell you that things are getting better. That after 32 months my grief has become manageable. That it no longer holds the power it once did over my heart and mind. I wish I could say time is helping to lessen your loss. I wish I could lie and say the days of gut punches, struggling to breathe and the uncontrollable flow of tears after a song, a smell or a memory hit my heart are gone. I wish all those things people say to make things better were true.
The reality is my life doesn’t follow any path or pattern. My reality continues to be one of unexplainable loss and unrelenting grief.
I remember me before the loss of you. A smart girl who loved life. Always finding joy in the little things. Always able to turn lemons into lemonade.
I had a large circle of friends. My home filled with laughter and love. Holidays were full with friends who had no family. The more the merrier. We laughed until our faces hurt and then we laughed some more. Happy hours on the weekends with whoever was in town. Crabs and beer. People and pups. Life always full of plans and adventures. Exploring new places in a kayak or on a bike. I was called the clown, the practical joker. Always ready to put myself out there at the drop of a hat. Old pictures show smiling eyes and happiness.
Today, I struggle to find peace. To accept who I have become since you left. Joy is something I briefly remember but no longer feel.
Our house is quiet. Many Friends have moved on. I’m no longer that smart girl. Saving babies is a beautiful memory. Holidays once so cherished and looked forward to are now something I fight to struggle through. Once celebrated now survived.
I never knew the incredible power of grief. I would never believe how it changes who you are from the inside out. I remember holding a screaming mother as she said goodbye to her precious infant. I never in a million years though I would be that mother screaming for my precious son. Experiencing the heartbreaking loss I witnessed many times in my nursing career.
This grief so much like childbirth. Until you live it you could never imagine the pain. My life is in two parts now. I call it the before and the after. I no longer recognize the face that stares back at me from my mirror. Grief has taken its toll. My light is gone. My eyes show a soul that’s shattered. I’ve forgotten how to smile. My laughter is a thing of the past.
I look at pictures taken before you left and it hits me that in reality we are both gone. Pictures of happiness and joyful occasions. You and me our faces covered in smiles. Eyes filled with light and life. From simple everyday stuff to you walking me down the aisle of the tiny church in the woods when you stood by my side as I said I do. Those pictures encompass our before. Bittersweet and what I have left of our life so precious, so cherished.
Time is now counted out in the months and days since you left. I remember the last conversation. The exact time we spoke. Our last sharing of the words I love you. Before I never counted time. Days, weeks and months flew by unnoticed. Today everyday that passes is a constant reminder of how long its been since I’ve heard your voice or seen your face.
I now wear a mask. It protects me from the world. I’m so tired of defending my grief. Defending the person I am today. Wearing my mask is easier. I’m protected from a cruel world where grieving has an expiration date. Where grief has overstayed its welcome but refuses to go.
Some days my longing to have you back walks hand in hand with my longing to have me back. We left together on the very same day hours and miles apart.