My eyes burn from tears. You’d think the body could only produce so much… but nope…there seems to be an endless supply these days. My heart, as cliché as it sounds, feels like an empty, open void . It aches sometimes so painfully for what was there that it brings me to my knees in the shower when I am trying to get ready for work. It seizes me in my car when I am driving. The pain comes on so swiftly that the tears are falling before I am actually aware that I am crying…again and again. Other times I am staring at the computer screen trying to put it into artfully constructed sentences to make it sound far more beautiful than it is and I find myself squinting my eyes tightly hoping to hold back the inevitable. Why should I be so sad?
It just hurts. And it hurts and hurts and it seems that I am only distracted in survivable increments. I am given just enough reprieve from my grief that I can find that moment that keeps me going. I battle wave after wave of depression and unless you know me or you read my words you would have no idea the assault my thoughts reign down upon my heart.
It takes every ounce of inner strength to get out of bed in the morning and face that when my feet hit the ground I will be reminded yet again that my feet are the only ones there. That I will not be greeted by the man that loves me. That I will go through my day without hearing his voice, seeing his face or feeling his touch at the end of the day. I will work dutifully as I always do and hate every notification that my phone receives throughout the day because it is not HIM. And that will not stop me from checking a million times, forever hopeful that it may be.
I will drive home, dreading walking through my door into my empty house with no plan, no destination for the evening except my bed, which was HIS bed.
And I will lie there…torturing myself with thoughts of what was, what happened, what could have been, what should be and even though I KNOW that this is NOT my doing, that this is not my journey, that I am utterly and completely helpless to the events that have unfolded it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
It is an exquisite pain to mourn the living.