The Bubble

My body is already preparing for the 3 year "sadiversary." 

It seems this has started a lot sooner this year. I can feel it in my heart, the tears are falling often again. 
My physical grief always starts in the arches of my feet and the palms of my hands.
From there it spreads to my joints, and eventually, my brain. It takes me a while to realize I am in a grief cycle.
I have 6 months until the 3 year anniversary. Today is 30 months since my husband left this earth.
My brain keeps count of how long it’s been. It’s constant. Counting, counting. Never ending. I keep waiting for the day that I stop counting.
My body is already preparing for the 3 year "sadiversary." 
It seems this has started a lot sooner this year. I can feel it in my heart, the tears are falling often again. 
My physical grief always starts in the arches of my feet and the palms of my hands.
From there it spreads to my joints, and eventually, my brain. It takes me a while to realize I am in a grief cycle.
I have 6 months until the 3 year anniversary. Today is 30 months since my husband left this earth.
My brain keeps count of how long it’s been. It’s constant. Counting, counting. Never ending. I keep waiting for the day that I stop counting.
Maybe that day will never come.
I am secretly starting to panic over the 3 year anniversary.  Since I am starting to panic (already), I feel weak.
I have this vision in my head - that come the 3 year anniversary - my grief will shatter at my feet. I will be able to walk over the broken pieces of grief, and make a major jump forward.
As I see myself coming into the 3rd year, I keep envisioning myself in a bubble.
The bubble drowns out all the sound of life. Everything bounces off it. Even good noises and good things are drowned out by the bubble.
As I look at myself in this bubble, I keep waiting for the bubble to explode.
Of course this is going to be the year the grief magically disappears, when the bubble will burst.
When the bubble bursts, it might be so loud and so sudden, that it will leave my ears ringing and leave me wondering what the hell just happened.
The bubble might not explode. It might get a small tear, and will lose its air slowly. So slowly that I might not even realize the bubble is gone.
When the bubble pops, I envision myself covered in thick, sticky grief. I might be able to shake the goo off easily.
Or I might be stuck with the goo for the rest of my life.
Being naive, I think the 3rd year will be the magical year, when everything I have been through will fade away and I can skip forward and live a happy, joyful life.
Maybe it’s not being naive. Maybe it’s me lying to myself, telling myself it will magically get better.
Maybe it’s because I am hopeful, but the experienced me knows it’s not that easy.
I know there will be no magical turn in my grief. I know it will slowly fade.
So slowly that I probably won’t notice until years down the road.
I’m still hopeful for the 3rd year, magical grief turn.

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