One of the worst things about this overpowering grief, about grief in general, is that you know what? It won’t bring back the one who died. It doesn’t matter how much I grieve, how much pain I physically feel, how anything. Handsome Husband is dead. Forever. Never to be seen again. Period.
I know grief changes as time passes by. I know to stay proactive in it. I know the face of grief ebbs and flows and ultimately finds a place in one’s heart and one’s life. I know, I know, I fucking know!
I’m 55 years old. Conceivably, I could live into my 90’s. That’s another 30 plus years without him. Straight up, I’ve got to say, I have no interest in that. None. Zippo.
There is no resolution to this pain. I’m doing all kinds of shit to get on with life. I’ve been walking to keep the energy moving. I’m doing self-hypnosis at night to get me to sleep and again if I wake during the night. I’m traveling all over to visit family and friends. I’m talking, I’m socializing. I’m crying. I’m expressing the grief. I’m doing every fucking thing I can think of. And you know what? While I’m doing all of these things, I’m desperately holding it together so that I don’t start screaming madly and run wild tearing my hair and clothes. I’m doing shit and looking calm (?) on the outside while my brain is pinging to and fro with memories of the years I shared with him. Yes, I had 24 years with him and I’m fucking lucky I had those years. We traveled and lived our dream and we have reams of pictures to show for it. That doesn’t comfort me. Not because I’m not grateful but because it screams to me that it will never happen again. And that is sheer, holy hell agony that slices through me.
Close your eyes and let yourself ruminate for a moment that the one person you love more than anything in this world is no longer in your world. Let’s make it your husband or wife. The one you see everyday. Let’s presume you love this person passionately. Your hearts are entwined. And…they’re gone. No longer in this world. There is zero chance that you’ll ever see that loved one again. Ever. Gone. Imagine the grief and loss and despair and agony and horror and pain and…I don’t know-you fill in the rest of the words.
I know I’m not the only one who has ever gone through this. I know that I was blessed to be able to say goodbye to my husband. I’m grateful beyond belief that I had the time with him. I’m grateful to be so surrounded by the love and support of so many. I’m conscious on a minute by minute basis of my blessings.
It is sheer, fucking agony to not feel him beside me. To not have him in my life. Sheer, knife-slicing agony. 24/7. If I’m with you and not sharing in a discussion with you, it’s because my mind is 10 million miles away with rapid fire snapshots of my life with him, shooting through me.
I’m not suicidal, in any way. No worries there. But in all honesty, the knowledge that this separation is forever is killing me, not so softly. There is no resolution to his not being here. He’ll never be here again.