This Point


I reached a point in these last few days. 

I need to stop looking (albeit unconsciously) for this sharp cutting edge of grief in my body to stop.  I need to stop looking for that elusive something that will take it away.  Cut it away as carefully as a surgeon's knife, leaving my body and heart as intact as it was for my 24 years with him.  There wouldn't even be any scarring because that then,in those old days that seem like another century and time, was the real, whole, me.

But, of course, the only thing that will remove it is if my beloved husband returns, and we all know he ain't gonna do that.  Which is unimaginable to me and probably always will be,but it's the ugly truth.

Our culture...many cultures, I suspect, are unforgiving of grief.  A certain, quantifiable time is allotted but then there's just that feeling in the air that society at large is whispering behind their hands oh she's depressed all she talks about is her husband she's always sad why doesn't she appreciate life. 

I'm tired of not allowing the totality of my grief to be present;  truly, it's exhausting to not show the depths of it.  I'm tired of continually striving to push my way through it.  Tired of holding myself together when, honestly, you know what I want to do?  I want to tear at my clothes, pull at my own hair, curl in a ball on the floor and become the pain that I am.  Allow myself to sob and grieve and shriek my madness at the Universe and dissolve into its' stars and the moon and the dark nothingness of what is too huge for my feeble human mind to grasp. 

Where is he?  Why is he gone?  What happened to my life?  Where is the part of my soul that mattered most to me?  How the holy fuck hell am I supposed to care about life without him?  How do I do this?  How do I not die from the loneliness of my soul?  How can I live for god knows how many years of my life with this fucking meat-cutter in my chest?  How, how, how, how? 

This man....this man who was my husband, was the keeper of my heart.  I mattered to him more than anyone else in his life and the gone-ness of that knowing has left me dislocated and lacking any sense of direction.

I talk to people throughout my day, like everyone else, as life goes on, but the words in my mind are much different than the words on my lips.  What I'm really saying is I miss you I miss you i miss you I Miss you I miSS You I miss infinitum...

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