There is a certain strength and confidence that I have now. I know I can endure great pain. I know I can do things that are hard. I may be damaged, but I know I can watch someone I love die and hold them and wish them well while I do it. I know I can laugh after crying.
I try to let the moment that defines me be the one where I looked at our bed, the one where he had died, and thought "I'll bet if I don't sleep here tonight, I'll never sleep here again. And I really like this bed." Because that was the me I wanted to be. Alone but brave. Practical and romantic. A keeper of the past but a believer in the future. I knew if I could spend that night, that first fucking night, in the same bed where we had spent our last, and where I had watched him draw his last breath, that I would be all right. That I would be as strong as I ever needed to be.
There are times when it all seems such a blur. Such a movie of a horrible thing that happened to nice people who couldn't have deserved it but must have, as that's how movies work. But I also felt it all with a clarity that was a gift. He was so strong and brave that I didn't notice how hard he was working to breathe. We were both trying to hard to be normal that we overlooked how very abnormal we were. I have no regrets, but I do sometimes wonder if I could have done it better. He would have scolded me for that though.
My grief is not beautiful, but it is real. It isn't what I thought it would be. My strength is beautiful. It surprises me, and I am proud of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment