honest

When I woke this morning my eyes were swollen almost completely shut and my heart was screaming in agony. It was my hope that last nights purge would lift some of the immediacy of the pain, it did not.

Last night, for the first time in a long time, I wailed. I moaned, uttering sounds to express the pain for which words do not exist. My hands groped the air, reaching for my son, coming back empty time and time again. These inexplicable expressions of grief are irrational, nonsensical. I know I will not reach into the dark and come back with my child in my arms... and yet my hands still reach for him, over and over.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

"Damon"

"Damon"

"Damon"

"I miss you. My baby boy, I miss you"

"Do you know? Do you know how much you are loved?"

"I failed you. I'm so so sorry."

It has been a while since living with this grief has so overwhelmed me. For so very long I did nothing but grieve. I cried so much, so long, so hard that my vision went permanently blurry for a time. I thought maybe I'd go blind. I didn't care. I found a lump in my abdomen and was almost hopeful, maybe this is cancer, maybe it will kill me. I'm struck by the selfishness of that notion now. But for nearly a year I have functioned.

Some time ago I saw a quote that I think encapsulates grief so well. "It doesn't get better. You just get better at handling it." I've gotten better at handling it. The "handling it" feels so fake, so untrue. Often at the end of the day I lay in bed thinking "What are you doing? What are you doing acting like a normal person, making plans, pursuing dreams? You're shattered. This is fake." The months of endless tears, indecipherable moans... those were real. That was true.

Today I am not better at handling it. Today I am a mess of torn flesh, aching, missing, moaning, questioning, longing, and raging. Today I am honest.

Until next time