This has been a tough week. I have been working on selling the antique car parts that John was working on before he died as well as some of his tools and going through everything and seeing everything gone over and in some cases taken apart, sent a knife through my heart. It triggered a meltdown. Crying. Sobbing. Sadness. Aching in my heart. Misery. Total misery. It was as if the last almost 18 months hadn't happened and John's passing was right now. All over again.
I understand these grief outbursts are common and normal but it doesn't make it any easier. And knowing what grief is and how it unfolds doesn't really help either.
It is what it is, I guess and will happen no matter what.
My therapist told me once that the intensity of my grief is equal to the intensity of my love. I guess there is solace in that.
Would I have wanted to have less love in order to have less grief? No. Definitely not.
I am so grateful and happy for what John and I had. I would never want to not have that. If this is the price then I will gladly pay it.
But I would be less than honest if I didn't admit to feeling cheated. We wanted old age together. We talked about what that would mean for us. How we would care for each other. What we would do. Where we would go. How we would spend that time.
And it won't happen now.
We loved each other in every stage of our life. We wanted that final stage. It's been cut short and I am angry about that. I saw Clint Eastwood on TV last week. A man who is 80 years old and still vibrant, still sexy, still handsome in his older years because of what is in his head and heart.
I envision John would have aged that way too. I thought John was handsome when he was younger and he became more handsome as he aged. He was beautiful inside and out. I would have loved to have shared that stage of life with him. To care for your love as you both age to me is the epitome of love.
I miss that.