Friday, April 25, 2014

Four weeks

I've read that grief has some predictable moments. One of them is when the mourner begins to realize that this is real. That their beloved isn't come back. That this absence won't be filled with a surprise visit or waking from the dream.

I hit that point this week and have been hitting it over and over again through the last few days. I feel as though all that is left of me is the wound, the tears, the sorrow and fatigue. I know at some point I will feel a little better and that will have its own kind of misery, maybe grey instead of black, but for now all I know is this: He isn't here. He won't be coming back.

On Monday it will be a month since the best man I have ever know, my beloved, a wonderful father, friend and grand human being, took his last breath and left for the next adventure. I hope there is a next adventure and he is there, hanging out with all who have gone before. I am struggling for faith.

I hate this.

Grief turns me into a four year old again. I'm feeling and saying things I never expected.
It isn't fair. 
I hate this. 
Please come back.
I feel like a lost child, all I know how to do is cry.

I know, it's one breath at a time, one moment. Cold comfort when he isn't here.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer Creative Commons License


  1. Respect your inner child, Laura. Let her cry.

  2. dearest L, On May 4th it will be 4 months and last night I cried myself to sleep. An hour ago I began crying, saying Please come back, Please. I call out to him and second-guess myself for not preventing, then blaming myself. I don't know how to make it better, but there are times when I forget for a minute the abyss in my life. I forget the emptiness and the insufferable lonely moments--for a minute. Just know that I know exactly what your talking about and so wish I didn't. love, val

  3. I'm so sorry your'e going through this, my friend. It's a hard path. *hugs*

    Carole B.


True Stories, Honest Lies by Laura S. Packer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at
Related Posts with Thumbnails