it’s been 2 weeks since angie died. 14 days, 9 hours and some amount of minutes i will never be able to calculate exactly. two weeks already, but it feels like i just lost her yesterday. those days somehow blended into one unending nightmare. the stress of everything turned them into a tear-soaked blur, making any given moment indistinguishable from the next. all i could do was keep waking up, breathing, and going to bed. anything outside of those directives was to much to bear. one minute i was catatonic and then next laughing and then crying. grief is a strange beast, isn’t it? the memorial service came and went, tears fell, hands were shook, and i was swallowed up by countless hugs… drowned with “i’m sorry for your loss.” and so the days passed, and passed and passed. the sun rose and set and here i still sit, now that everything is “over”, everything is settling… i find myself facing the hardest part of all: learning how to live life without Angie in it.
my innate desire is to be selfish in this new way of living, to retreat, curl up and rock back and forth. i want to lay in my bed, arms enveloping my pillow, and sob. do not disturb me. no, i do not want to leave the house or eat…i don’t care about a shower… i don’t want to move. i am not ready to make half-hearted attempts to change my outlook, searching for silver linings that i am certain don’t exist. i want to lay here in my grief, i want to bathe in it… because it keeps my focus on her. i can see her when i close my eyes, i can feel her warmth, hear her laugh. let me lay here forever, she is here with me. i want more time with her. i want to feel her arms around me. i want her back, and if this is how i can do it, i will lay here forever. let me be selfish. allow me this.
i want to be selfish but i know i cannot carry on like this forever. my brain tells me i need to get on with it. with anything. “take a freaking shower already, it’s 4 o’clock.” i can argue with my brain, and i’ve been winning these last 2 weeks… but i cannot argue with my heart. my heart tells me Angie wouldn’t want to see me like this, and it’s right. it would hurt her to see me like this. she would be sitting next to me, rubbing my back, and gently coaxing me out of bed. she’d distract me from my sorrow by telling me some ridiculous story of her being clumsy again, her latest crazy show at Slim’s, anything to cheer me up. she would bring me something to eat, because that’s what she did, she took care of me. everyone, really. she’d open the blinds and let the sun in… but i don’t want to open the blinds. i’m not ready, i am scared. i don’t want to burn up in that bright light.
the bright light is overwhelming… the world is moving on, moving on without her, without even blinking. people are going to work. the bills still need to be paid. baseball practice is in full swing. the dog is sick. enough. i want to scream at the world to stop for a minute and acknowledge that something is wrong, a piece of the puzzle is missing and why aren’t people alarmed… the world cannot ever be complete. nothing will make sense ever again. but it is useless to stop and scream, my screams would not amount to even a whisper. life is going on whether i like it or not.
i never imagined my world would look like this. i wasn’t prepared for this, people aren’t supposed to die young. you’re not supposed to bury your children. the brightest stars should be allowed to burn forever. i don’t know how to live in a world without her.
i want her here with me again, and although i will never see her in the flesh again, i can hold her with me in mine. i can take the weight of this pain and sorrow and express it physically, bearing the physical pain far easier than the emotional pain. and what is left behind is but a beautiful scar to remember her by.
i will carry you with me forever, my sweet angie.