There are nights when I just cannot breathe. I know there is oxygen filling my lungs but I just cannot breathe. Nine and half weeks – should have a sexier line coming but no. Nine and half weeks and life is just about not being able to breathe.
Dinner was totally normal tonight until out of the blue your six year old son starts to cry. “I miss my daddy! I miss my daddy!” he cried over and over again. Then your four year old starts to cry, but only because her older brother is in tears. She looks up at me and says, “Well when we are getting a new daddy anyway?” I say not for a while. But the six year old is past that – he is crying that he wants the daddy I already married. I am now crying too and look at him and say I want him back as well. The crying and the wailing and the screaming for you goes on for a while until I bring out ice cream covered in sprinkles. Then the tears stop – or maybe just postponed.
I just can’t handle this anymore. It is so painful to watch them go through this – it is like tiny shears are tearing out my insides slowly and meticulously. I am not in pain - I am in gut retching torturous agony every time they cry. I sit back and let them cry and tell them I am sorry. I am sorry you are gone and I can’t bring you back. I am sorry for them and sorry for me and so sick of this agony.
I am tired of the voices in my head aka other people telling me what they think I should or should not be doing. I am angry and lash out at everyone. Mostly I would just like the entire world to leave me alone. To pretend I am not sinking and drowning and just leave me alone. I am not myself and this person, who I do not know, cannot make decisions or think about the future. When I do try and look ahead I get sweaty palms and headaches and feel nauseous and can’t breathe.
Nine and half weeks and I still wear your ring around my neck. Nine and half weeks and I still cannot put my clothes in your empty dresser. I would rather cram clothing into my full drawers than even attempt to use yours. There are rooms in the house I have difficulty going into. Your office is awful. I go in only when I have to use the printer and spend as little time as I can there. I tried to go in and get rid of any piece of paper with your handwriting on it. It doesn’t matter. You are still there.
I have cancelled your cell phone, sold your car and deleted your e-mail address. None of this has done any good in my mind. You are here, there and everywhere. When I look at certain food I start to cry. When I look at the extra freezer fully stocked with your favorite ice cream I cry. When I try and feed the kids this same ice cream there are tears next to the sprinkles.
I feel like I am trying to go about my life. I am trying to live life and move on. Nothing seems to be moving fast enough for me. I wish I had a crystal ball that would show me six months from now – I just want to see us all in a better place.
I still feel like this is happening to someone else. I still don’t feel like this life I am living is mine. I drove through the city today and went by our old apartment. The one we lived in before marriage. I remember hating that apartment with the crooked stairs because we always felt drunk, even when we weren’t. Now I long for that apartment. I long for those days when we would laugh about anything and everything. I wish I could go back in time and figure out where we went wrong and how this happened.
But I can’t. I am supposed to be looking forward and healing. I am supposed to be strong and sometimes I feel very small.
Nine and half weeks – it seems like a speck of time in the real world. It feels like a millions years since you have died and it still feels like it was yesterday.
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