The title says it all, doesn't it? It's heartbreaking, plain and simple. Luckily, thank God, love acts like glue, because that is all I can offer when they miss you. I hold them, cry with them, attempt to soothe them, share memories, say I am sorry for their pain, and snuggle them up as we walk through their moments or hours of active grief. Then, I walk away, thankful that we are at a point where they have learned to share their emotions, and wait for a new wave of grief to hit. Mine, like theirs, bubbles beneath the surface and hits when it chooses. It will never not be, it just is part of who we are now. You are our before, your loss is our after. I know you did not count on that...you would never have wanted to have us hurt, especially by you.
There is no pain, like watching someone you love hurt. I felt that when you were sick. It broke me, actually, over time. Ironically, your death, which ended your suffering, commenced theirs. Also, ironic, is that I could no longer be broken. I was all they had. I had no choice, but to heal. What you did not count on, and I know this as sure as I know anything, was that by leaving us, you created holes in our hearts that nothing can ever fill. We can, and have, healed, but we will always hurt. You would never have chosen this for us, no matter the cost. I know that. Unfortunately, your disease chose it for you, and we will forever be left with the scars of your loss.
I wrote a long and emotional letter, of sorts, to you earlier on this very page. It took over an hour to compile and walked me through many emotions. For some reason I cannot explain, when I hit send, it was lost in cyberspace. So, since there is no way to recreate what it said, I simply take it as a post not meant to be. However, I could not escape today without writing something, to touch on the pain and the hurt and the reality of loss that our kids experience, that so many experience, as a result of your death combined with our life. My head and heart are jumbled, as is likely evident in this note, because I had worked out everything so elloquently earlier.
Maybe that is my lesson today...that my writing, like our grief, doesn't need to be elloquent or perfect or edited, it simply needs to be genuine and real and authentic, sometimes beautiful, sometimes raw, alway true. Today, it is a mess of tears and frustration and heartache. I have felt anger, too, I admit. I want to fix everything for our kids, just like I wanted to "fix" you. But, I can't and that it ok, because we are all learning that to hurt doesn't necessarily mean to break. I didn't know that before, but I have learned and accepted it. I can face it now and walk through it and get to the other side and that is all I ever want for them...the other side, so that they can continue to live and learn and love and yes, hurt and heal and grow and grieve. Then, they will live, truly live, all the blessed days they are given, which I pray far exceed my own. So, until the next hurt, or memory, or event....I leave you. As always, loved.
Wen
Our girl is going through a hard time....and recieving high praise....and winning an essay scholarship....and it all surrounds you. 