Grief feels like a weighted blanket. It’s close to my body, but I put it away each morning and begin the day pretending it’s not there. Annoyance is also close by. The pitying question “how are you?” continues to grate. I don’t know how I am wish want to shout. How is it even after three years, I am no closer to feeling the hole inside recede. Grief is also tiring, mundane, boring even. Repetitive even. Well meaning people irritate with their questions, looking to see if you are whole when all you wish to do is scream, there is also now and before the death. They are just different.
So I continue each day, plodding along, hoping, praying, wishing even that my grief is no bigger or better than others, but the ache stays, the heaviness inside me remains. Only in this morning quiet do I allow myself the luxury of that blanket. But soon I must put it aside as the sun rises, ready to start another day, to answer that I am okay, because truth be told, there is no other way except to carry this for the rest of my life.
And so I begin the day with longing, remembering the laughing times, the old conversations, the many lectures, but most of all, I remember him waving goodbye in so many pictures. He was always ready. I just wasn’t.