The end of the month is the most difficult.
Another month without you. Another month I had to learn to live this new version of normal. Another month of tears. So many tears. Big alligator tears. Tiny streams. Silent rains of water soaking my shirt. Loud sobs. Weeping so hard I become physically ill. Loneliness. Emptiness. My heart constricting so tight its bound to rupture in my chest. Waking up every day, reminding myself that it did happen. That you are gone. That I can’t call. I can’t hear you. I can’t see you. Relieving the same damn nightmare over and over.
Another month I made it without you. Another month I can stop, breathe, keep going. Waking up to a magnificent sun spreading rays of red fire across the tree top as it rises. (A lot of mornings, watching the sunrise is surreal. Did another day really just start without you??) Another month of fighting so damn hard. Dragging. Crawling. Getting myself up and going. Even if it is just to spend time with the kids. BUT being up to say I did it. I did get up. I did fight.
The end of this month is hard to swallow. This marks the month I started attending a grief group. Group makes you being gone a different kind of real. The kind of real that wakes me up to this grief thing being much more difficult than anything I have ever done. It is so difficult to talk about you in past tense. My heart hurts so much talking about you like that. I fight every Monday night with myself to go.
“Kate, maybe tomorrow will be better.”
“Krys, everyday we get to be together is better.”
“Kate, when we aren’t together,don’t lose your spirit. Tomorrow will be better. It will.”
Today, I’m sitting here without you trying to believe you.