Henry and I go to sleep alone in our giant bed. The emptiness pierces consciousness and holds it up like a mast preventing the solace of night. He is hurting and confused... I can see it. Time passes. We wake up together... alone. The house is silent. It is so big and cold without her. I know it has nothing to do with square footage. He looks for her. I think she may be at the store, to be home soon, or perhaps in the other room. They are just flashes in my mind, but pass quickly and I cry. I couldn't bring myself to leave this weekend. I have Monday and Tuesday as well, but the thought of driving somewhere was overwhelming. The thought of being alone anywhere but in our home was overwhelming. Somehow, no matter how much it hurts, it is better here. Today would be a "bad day". Today my world is black.
Still and again... in no particular order.
awwwwwww.... his eyes tell a million sweet stories!!!
I know he misses his mommy, but I think it’s wonderful that he’s got a daddy that is so aware of his needs. Maybe focusing on Henry helps you take some of the focus off your own pain… if only for a short while.
Try to find some things to smile about while you’re off.
She is there and not. Both and neither. I wish there was more I could do. More time. More everything.
Take care of yourself through the holiday. Though I’m not there my thoughts are with you.
You are always welcome here anytime. Or call if you want company - being it doing something or hanging out.
hello, pal.
I am thinking of you today, right here, at this very moment. Maybe it brings you some degree of comfort to know that, maybe not. It is what it is.
I was meditating the other day, praying on what I could offer you in the way of soothing words since I am not there to whip out a baked ham (because all the *true* Southerners know that no pain is greater than baked goods and large hunks of meat) or sing you a ditty or hug your neck. Shortly thereafter, a friend called and read something to me. It belongs to you, and so I’ll pass it on (paraphrased, of course):
“Sustaining faith is what gets us through the dark nights of the soul.”
Thank you for your blog. It has resonated with me and, strangely, comforted me as I continue to grieve the loss of my mom this spring. It has been harder than I ever imagined.
My friends tell me that it takes at least a year to move through the process. So take heart. Have faith. Have patience with yourself. Celebrate Erin’s life and the miracle that you found each other--if only for a blink in eternity.
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