There are some words that are supposed to be associated with grief.
I hate them all.
I looked them up in the dictionary just to be sure I understood them properly.
A survivor is supposed to be “somebody who shows a great will to live or a great determination to overcome difficulties and carry on”.
Closure signifies an “ending”, a “finishing”.
And finally, support. Something to “prop” you up, “buoy” you up, “sustain” you.
Those definitions were not written to describe grief reactions. Not to me. Not by a long shot.
I do not feel like I want to carry on. I will never be finished grieving. And there is nothing that props me up and sustains me.
This grief is all consuming and showing no signs of letting go.
That’s all right. I honestly don’t care.
I think the extent to which I don’t care frightens some people so I find myself not being totally honest when I am asked how I am or how I am feeling.
Yesterday someone thought they were being understanding and acknowledged that it’s something you have to take “day by day”.
When I answered sometimes it’s really “hour by hour”, I could instantly see the change in her face. She didn’t want to hear that.
“Well, it takes time”, she said.
There isn’t enough time in the world to make this any better.
There is no “better”.
There is only the wish for it to be over. To rejoin John wherever he is.
And if that scares people, again, I just don’t care.
I am not suicidal. I will not end my life. But I do not enjoy the remnants of what my life has turned into.
Each day is just a reminder of being alive without John.
This man who was an absolute part of me as much as my heart or my arm or my head is not here anymore.
It’s as if I have had a body part amputated and the stump hangs there, bleeding still. And I experience phantom pain in the missing piece. So many times a day I start to tell him something or I find myself thinking I need to relate a story to him that I know he will enjoy and then the cold reality hits me that I can’t do that. There will be no more shared stories, no more inside jokes, no more anything.
My mate is gone. My soul mate is no longer here for me to hug and love and take care of and share with and just sit and be with.
No, I am not a survivor. I am just left standing. Alone. And scared. And wishing it weren’t so. Nothing buoys me up. And there will be no end to this.