Not Ready to Say Goodbye

It's been 2 weeks, 9 hrs and 8 minutes since you left us. Supposively I am going to go through five different stages of grief, but I feel like I am feeling all of them at the same time. I can't believe you are gone. I refuse to believe it. I am angry that it is true. I would do anything for one more minute, for one more anything. I keep asking, "Why?" Why you? Why now? Why me? Just, fucking why?!

The past 2 weeks have been pretty close to hell. People ask, "How are you doing?" Knowing it's a loaded question; they just want to know that I am ok. That we are ok. What I want to say, is "Well, I am living in hell, my life is a living nightmare, other than that, doing great. I have seen things that I cannot unsee. I have heard screaming and wailing that I cannot unhear. I have felt emotions that are too much."

I wish I could send this letter to you and get a response back. There are just so many things I want to know; that I need to know. Things like, your final minutes, were you scared? Did you know? What were you thinking? I just can't get the image of you panicking, knowing what was happening, trying to fix it out of my head. The terror I have imagined on your face haunts me every time that I close my eyes. Of all people, I know you were ready to accept your walk with Jesus at any moment, but I just feel like it was a mistake, you were taken too soon.

Everyone keeps saying, "Thank God you have your children. They will keep you going." Yes. True. Especially given the light that they were supposed to be with you, Dad. But, I can't grieve with them needing me all the time. They are so little, I don't want them to know or experience such pain. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, let alone my sweet babies. I have to move on, make a routine, find a normal again, regardless of what I need to do to grieve. So, yes, they are right. I am so thankful my babies are here, alive and healthy. But, sometimes I don't need something to keep me going. Sometimes I need to stop. I need to stop and cry and scream and throw things. But I can't do that with my kids around. They say, "Take time to yourself to grieve." When? How? I have two toddlers.

We spread your ashes this past weekend. They were beautiful spots. But I didn't fully participate because I wasn't ready to do it. I didn't want to do it yet. I wasn't then and I am not now, ready to say goodbye to you. And now I have to do that without your ashes, because I wasn't ready yet. All I can think of to say is that I love you and please come back. 

There is some greater purpose in this; I know there is, I can feel it. I have a haunting feeling I know what it is, but I want to be wrong so bad. I wish you could tell me, I just want to understand. I have had so much heartache in my short time on this Earth. I wish that God could just this once enlighten me so that it can take one small burden off of my chest.

I know we need to move forward, but forward means without you. I don't want that. Everything is now before Dad died and after dad died. There is a stark divide in our time, in our reality. Before & After. Every inch my kids grow will be a reminder of how long you have been gone. Everything, or everyone new, will be just that: new. They will not have known you. That breaks my heart.

Each day, I wake up, wishing I could lay in bed all day. I wake up, and realize the pain in my chest hasn't gone away. I realize, that you are still gone. I have panic attacks, because I fear that at any given time someone I love is going to die. Why shouldn't I think that? It has happened twice in two years. In more than not, the worst case scenario has happened in most aspects of my life over the past three years. Knowing these things makes it hard to breathe. It is exhausting constantly preparing for the worst. My optimism is dwindling.

I am treading the water, I know that somehow we will get through this. I just wish we didn't have to be here like this. I just wish you were here. I love you.