Tears

I think I cried my way through April. Easter, all three birthdays, the 4 month anniversary of G's death. My first time having to introduce myself to new people that didn't know that G had died. My grandmother entering hospice. April was tough.

Then I went numb. I could feel the pain and sorrow under the surface but it just wouldn't come out. It scared me. How could I not be crying? G is gone. Gone! How does that not bring tears? What's wrong with me?

But the tears are back. I've cried a lot this week. Because I'm scared of forgetting him. Because I'm getting used to him not being here in some ways. Because I have to plan his memorial service and then what happens after that? Does that mean he's really gone? Do people expect me to move on? I've cried because I can't get to him - I can't hold him - I'm forgetting what it felt like to get one of his soft, warm, hugs. Those hugs that felt like home since the first time I hugged him 16 years ago. I can still remember that day in my dorm room. I don't remember what led to the hug. We weren't dating yet. But we hugged and it warmed my heart. We were the perfect fit. He was the perfect height. He felt safe and warm and like home.

I wonder how many times we hugged over the years. Tens of thousands? Millions? How could the memory of what those hugs were like fade already? The good morning hugs. The it's okay hugs. The I'm exhausted hugs. The lets be silly hugs. The family hugs where we'd be hugging and P would wiggle his way in between us and we would giggle and P wouldn't understand why we thought it was funny. The smelly you need a shower hugs. The hospital bedside hugs. The hugs I would give him before the wheeled him back for another procedure and my heart squeezed with pain because there was always that nagging risk that this could be the last hug.

The hug and kiss on September 28th - that day I will always hate when we had to take him to the ER and they were planning on shocking his heart back into working and it felt like a nightmare and we were both so scared and all I could think was what if he dies? The day when things never got back to normal. When his heart rate went back into a safe zone without them shocking him but our life veered towards death and we didn't even know it. The beginning of months of fear and panic and questions and frustrations and being stiff-armed by doctors and not knowing what to tell family and not knowing what to tell ourselves. The day that led to medications and procedures and waiting rooms, and limited visits and hospital stays and stupidly bad internet connection that made it too hard to video call and desperate tears and unanswered questions. Which culminated in brothers moving to town and phone calls and paper work and pain and questions and no help and suddenly - G was gone.

It feels like a bad dream. How is he gone? What happened? I both know and don't know. Our routines are different but in some way maybe I'm still waiting for him to come back? That's what scares me about his memorial service. Just like the viewing and his burial. I fear that this will be the thing that finally makes it real. That finally forces me to come to grips with the fact that I lost my best friend, my soul mate, the love of my life. He is gone. He is with Jesus. He's no longer with me.

When I got out of the shower tonight I found a little craft that P made and hung on my bedroom door. It said Daddy and had hearts with crosses drawn. It surprised me. What was he thinking while I was in the shower? What is going on in that little heart and mind of his? We will keep it on my door as long as he wants. It does my heart a little good to see him remembering his Daddy - and it simultaneously breaks my heart that my little guy has to find ways to mourn the loss of his dad. I love the little things around the house that make his presence feel more real.

I hate this. I hate all of it. The pain. The numbness. The reality of loss. Death. It's not how it was supposed to be.