I’ve had this line running through my head, “This is all I have to bring today”. It kept coming up and I finally had to google it. I realized it was from a poem that the chaplain read at your funeral. And it just feels so timely, because it so closely describes how I feel about my life.
I’m awake now, and I hate it. But what I hate almost as much are the expectations on me. I eat and I sleep and I put on my uniform and people assume that because I do these things, I must be okay. I must be “cured”, as if grief was just a fleeting disease.
They ask me “what’s wrong?” And I think–how will there ever be an answer other than “everything”? My son is dead. My life is changed.
I eat and I sleep and I get out of bed. I perform passably at work. But that’s it. That’s all I have. This is all I have to bring today. These words are just so true. Everything else, every piece, is reserved for missing you.
I love you.