I don't Understand.

Babes, I am sitting in a somewhat packed house, our house.  I am out in two day but it really doesn’t look like a house of someone who is moving out in two days. See I think part of me thinks if I don’t pack it is like this isn’t real. As with so much since your accident I just put it off. I am late for a lot. It is getting better but earlier on, it was like it was just too hard so I just wouldn’t get ready, or leave the house on time. Next thing I knew it would be the time I was supposed to be somewhere and I was just thinking of getting in the shower. You would have hated that, you were so frustrated if people were late. 

I have gotten better over the year, the day-to-day I can keep together, but I cannot believe I am moving out of our house. Our house… So, I have not done a good job at getting it ready. And yet it feels like it has been the only thing I have been working on for a month now. There has been so much, and truthfully it is a disgusting task. Going through all our stuff; all your computer stuff, your tools, our pictures, you keepsakes, and clothing.  I just need you to hold me. To take my hand and tell me it's OK.

My body has chosen for me that some things are too much. I am getting migraines weekly and headaches daily, riddled with tension my body hurts. I have a hard time focusing, wake from nightmares when I do finally fall asleep. Your death was really just the beginning of hellish moments. Your death. You died? Really that was it, never will I see you again? I can’t even believe that, I still cannot make meaning of it.

There are moments of numb, or disconnected anger and then there is this. I have seen these rhythms before.  It is necessary for these tears, for the breakdown. It is only after the breaking that I have moments of ease. Where I can breath, where I can sleep. Awake nights role into exhausted days, into crazy highs as I try anything to not feel this. When it all gets so intense and I push it away until there is no outrunning it, and the storm rips through. 

Rene, I am leaving our home. That is unbelievable, I cannot be doing this without you. For fucking real? I know in my mind I will get through this. I have had many people share their stories with me and they seem to be really living after loss. I see them, and in better moments it is inspiring but it doesn't take away how much this hurts… It's like telling someone their broken arm will heal but twisting the broken limb and expecting them not to scream. Maybe one day I will not feel this broken, but these days are not those days.

How absolutely ridiculous this is, how disgusting and utterly unbelievable.  There is no amount of spiritual practice, or faith that can take away the severity of these moments. This is harsh. I had hoped that one year would put me in a better place, but there is always something, it is relentless. When is enough enough? When will I not feel like a shell of myself, like a ghost of a human?

I am sorry I have to go on without you. I am so sorry. Just so sorry. This crazy thing, moving out of our home without you. I have never felt so alone. I used to be content with alone, in fact I craved alone time, but now alone is lonely, hell it's most often lonely. An emptiness that cannot be filled. I try, and sometimes I succeed, but inevitably the party has to end and this must be felt. The pain of your death, it's just beyond.

You died, I still cannot believe it. I'm not even sure what that means but I know it hurts. 

Rene, my love. I am so sorry.  I’m so sorry.