I would give anything for another conversation with Moma as I sit and watch someone I hold dear having to work towards goodbye with his mother.
It is never easy letting go. As our loved ones move toward heaven, we enter the gates of hell. Grief changes us in ways that those who have not lost can never understand.
Grief is not a dwelling place but rather a path we will all walk at various points in our lives. We will all carry the scars differently but when it comes for you, it will at first feel like you have been swallowed by an ever-crashing wave.
You will gasp... desperately trying to get above water. Slowly you will find that you have time to draw a breath between the waves. Eventually, the waves become rolling breakers that you can manage but the massive waves will still come. Without warning. A smile, a memory, a flower... you will never know when it will hit but you do know how to ride it. And you know you will make it to shore again. (Not my analogy, wish I knew who to credit).
Tonight I am missing our Moma. Imperfect as she was.
I am missing Michél. Her sweet smile, her little giggles, her healing hugs.
I miss the future she would have had, the grandchildren she would have given me.
Her death is as present now as it was the day she died.
I wish I could tell my friend that it will be okay and believe it myself. Sleep is distant because the specter looms. Perhaps darkness is as necessary to life as light but I could really use some light.