It’s when the lights go out and everything is still…these are the moments that hurt the most. When I reflect back on the day and think about how much I wish you had been there to be a part of the day. This is when I can no longer hold back the tears.
I fill each day with things to busy my mind and my hands…I reflect, I read, I write, I binge watch TV, do some work from home, hike in the woods, surround myself with loved ones, play games with the kids, walk the dog, explore options for a new hobby or maybe a even a new career, or go to therapy and just talk. Oftentimes I shed some tears in the midst of all of that. But it’s in the middle of the night and early in the morning when I awaken or when I lay my head down at night that the ache settles in to my chest and the heaving sobs come to the surface.
I realized today that these are the moments that others refer to when suggesting I “sit with my grief.” It’s not like I don’t feel the lack of your presence every minute of every day. I’m acutely aware of the fact that I cannot just call you and pick up where our last conversation left off. Memories of you carousel in my mind on repeat without effort while I simultaneously consider all the could haves and would haves that will never be. That part of grief envelops me like a cloak, or maybe more like a straightjacket. But it’s in the silence that my grief is loudest.
The darkened quiet gives more space for my grief to well up. There are no distractions, nowhere to hide the feelings, nothing to numb the pain. This is when I am forced to feel the loss of you in the core of my being and it is excruciating. The pain is indescribable. I know I have to let it surface and feel all the feelings and sit in that space with my grief but, quite honestly, I don’t want to feel it. It’s just so overwhelming, so incredibly scary. It feels too much like letting you go.
