Grief Is…

January 2023

Grief is…

Having a really good day and then sobbing because he isn’t here to tell him about it.

Not wanting to take down the fall decor because it’s what home looked like the last time he was in it.

Waking up to a new reminder every morning.

Working at home all day, then sitting alone every night to watch tv, eat dinner and go to bed. Always alone. Then repeat every day.

Lonely.

Having to answer calls on his phone and tell people that he’s gone.

Crying while you clean out the fridge and throw his food away.

Being sad about finishing a bottle of ibuprofen that you shared.

Never being the same again.

Meaning life will always be “before” and “after”

Not crying all day but breaking down every night.

Hiding tears behind every smile.

Forgetting to feed the dog.

Ordering grocery delivery to avoid the anxiety of going to the store.

Crying in the shower, and into your pillow at night, and sitting at your desk, and in church, and walking around stores, and driving down roads, and sitting on the couch by yourself.

Waking up to an anxiety attack and being unable to breathe every morning.

Being triggered by the sirens of emergency vehicles.

Crying uncontrollably as you drive down the interstate and pass by the hospital where life as you knew it ended.

Getting a new kitten so you have something to give love and affection to and watch tv with at night.

Not wanting to celebrate your birthday because now you’re the same age he was and will always be.

Still lonely.

Constantly being told you’re strong when you had no choice, this is just your life now.

Going to the gym and silently crying on the treadmill the entire time as you watch a love story unfold onscreen in the media room.

Driving down the interstate and sobbing at each song that comes on.

Realizing it’s impossible to watch anything on tv that doesn’t resemble your previous or new life somehow.

Missing him. Always. Every second of every day with every breath you take.

Still finding it impossible months later to accept that you’ll never see him again, hear his voice, hold his hand or spend the rest of your life with him.

Reliving that final day and the last time life would ever be normal.

Haunted by visions of his last moments over and over and over again.

Constantly wondering if you could have done something to save him.

Wondering if you’ll ever truly be happy again.

Missing your former life and mourning the dreams that will never happen and knowing they were right in your grasp a few months ago.

Still seeing his pants on the floor in the corner of the bedroom 4 months later and refusing to pick them up yet. Along with his clothes in the dresser, his bathroom items in the cabinets, his shoes in the living room and the last few pieces of laundry that you leave at the bottom of the basket with every load.

Being scared of the future.

Just going through the motions and simply existing every day.

Wanting to scream “my husband died” everywhere you go just so the people around you will know why you look so sad and not ask how your day’s going.

Wishing you could tell him about all of the dinners you’ve been making.

A voice inside your head screaming that everything was normal. How could he be gone just two hours after you went to dinner?

Having a public breakdown after making lunch plans without realizing you would be across the street from where you had your last dinner together, which also happens to be next to the hospital where life as you know it ended 4 months before.

Fear. Of everything because nothing is normal anymore.