Seven Hundred and Thirty Days and Nights

October 2 1014

Two years.

Seven hundren and thirty days and nights.

When I think of waking up seven hundren and thirty times I feel exhausted.

I wonder to myself, why do I even commemorate this day?

The day my husband died!

Would it not be better , emotionally anyway to commemorate the first time we made love, or the first time we looked at eachother and just knew that a life had just begun.

Why do we commemorate when someone very dear to us left?

Poof!

Gone.

On that moment.

That split second, we become consumed with sadness.

There is a void. Black emptiness where someone once filled the space, now no more.

Like a lung collapsing,whusshhhhhhhhh.

It takes us a while before we can take a deep breath again.

A while before we fully understand that we are now alone.

While friends and family are vastly important it’s often better not telling them of this lonliness.

They take it personally, or feel insulted that their presents does not compare.

Days do get better. Meds help a lot.  

 

 

Grieving may be embarrasing to others.

Grieving is an extension of the love I feel.

For me anyway.

Everyone is different.

Today I feel an intense pain in my chest. I know its because my mind has learned how to shut things out, but the pain just shows up somewhere else.

Two years.

Seven hundren and thirty days and nights.

 

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