It is 5:25 am and I have woken up sweating. Despite the air conditioning. Beside me, my kids and my husband are fast asleep.
It feels as if someone has just been pounding away at my heart with a sledge hammer. Grief is overwhelming and is upon me in colossal waves. It’s been 8 months now since he’s gone.
On the outside, it seems as if I have coped remarkably well. Nobody sees my tears any more. I don’t talk about it as much as I used to. I tell my mom that this was for the best. I feel really bad for my children. (They were very close to him) I tell them too that this was for the best. This was exactly the way he would have liked it. Many people aspire for this, yet few get it. He is lucky. Really lucky. And I smile a big smile to show it is okay.
Inside, it feels so raw. It feels as if someone has reached right in, and scooped out something with a machete, and forgotten to put a gauze, to make it stop bleeding.
Every small thing, still reminds me of something he might have said. His laughter rings in my ears. So do his words, his voice, his cheerfulness, his comforting presence, his clear logic, his positivism—and the way he wanted to brighten every single person’s life.
More than anything, it is the bare and stark fact, that all I have left is memories. One part of me, desperately wants to believe in reincarnation, and ‘soul & body’ concept and afterlife and things like that. Another part of me just says it is nothing but made up stuff, to help you cope with death better. Death is the end. Your body is burnt or buried—it decomposes or the ashes that remain are scattered .That is it. (“ In the end, you’re just the same. Lifeless organic matter.”)
Many of my ‘online friends’ have helped me remain sane, without even realizing it. Most of them don’t even know that I have just lost somebody who meant the world to me, so recently. I don’t tell them. They chat with me online, about mundane things and this and that. I’m still able to make them laugh. And laugh with them.
I forget.For a while.
It helps me cope.