Unique Grief

My thoughts are muddled today.

It's our first Easter without G. We are at my sister's house and so it hasn't felt real - not the way that Christmas Eve and Christmas and New Years Eve (okay the first two were a blur and we buried G on the third - a surreal blur) - but in the "this is all different so it's not that different to not have G here" kind of way.

There was a basket hunt for P and his cousins, brunch, an Easter egg hunt at the park and some Boba tea. Not our typical Easter.

But I laid down for a bit and thought about the night before G died.

I remember he was in so much pain. He barely slept that night and I woke up to find him already awake and restless. He never woke up before me. He drank a big jar of orange juice while I had coffee and we sat at the table facing each other. "Our seats". That would be the last time we sat like that. Could I ever have imagined he'd be gone that night? I look back and it is surreal. How is someone alive in the morning, sitting at a chair and drinking orange juice while listening to his wife chat about who knows what, and gone that night.

I remember him saying he felt like he was suffocating. He thought his tube for the machine giving him air into his bi-pap was kinked. It wasn't.

I remember that horrible noise - the "death rattle" I now know that it's called.

I remember his pain, the way his limbs stopped working so suddenly. The terror. His. Ours. Him not being able to speak.

How did it all happen so fast?

How is he gone? He's really gone. It's April 4 and tomorrow our boy turns 7 and G is not here. I never could've imagined this.

Today grief feels like being numb. Shocked. Am I sad? Can I feel? Feels like I couldn't cry if I tried. Feels like part of my heart died with him.

I just came across another young widow's blog. She has a podcast too. I'm thankful she's there. But it feels too soon to read her story. I'm still trying to understand mine.