Grief is ever present in my life. It has defined my existence since September 16 of last year. Every moment of every day, I am reminded of the great absence that holds me hostage. Sometimes it is a black, heavy cloud of despair that envelops me, other times it is a lighter, more distant ripple of nostalgia. Either way, it is an ever-present absence. I feel it first thing when I wake up and it follows me throughout the day. The house is empty, even when it’s full with the kids’ laughter and activities. Even when I’m sleeping, I’m aware of the empty bed next to me. I try to absorb the grief, but I haven’t been successful, yet. I can’t yet comprehend it.
Someday, maybe I’ll get used to it. People tell me that I’ll never get over it, but I’ll make space for the absence in my life. That it will become a part of me and stop consuming my thoughts and stop blanketing me with overwhelming anguish. It’s hard to imagine that from where I am now. But I hope it’s true. And I’ll have to keep moving forward through this painful life until it becomes true.