A Tougher Night

Some moments the feeling just creeps up on me. The knowledge that she is gone is always there, but it is not as often that I allow myself to realize the loss. When I can no longer keep it at bay and it hits me, it feels like all the air gets pulled from my lungs, my heart tightens, and I panic.

So many things in life have solutions, that the situations I am faced with that I just have to push through feel unreal. I feel desperate to fix this and even forget that there is nothing to be done about it. I dream that she is alive and I can hug her and smell her and bury my tears in her big red hair. I hear her voice in my head telling me things she wants to say and I think of all the happenings in my day that I want to relay to her. There is a void. Some days when I am with people I find myself talking more than usual to fill the quiet spaces. Anything to keep the world from going still around me. I talk and talk and talk and none of it is what I actually want to say.

I want to say that I am lonely without her. I want to say that I’m angry she is gone so soon. I want to cry without fear of burdening others. I want to scream that the world needs her, that I need her and that none of my efforts fill the space. She is not coming back. To think it, to type it, to say it… is agony.

When I wake up in the morning, people will ask me if I am okay, but the moment is gone so it is harder to open up.

I am okay, but fuck I hate this.

Scan 62

2 thoughts on “A Tougher Night”

  1. My Wonderful Talented Samantha – I wish I had your talent for words because I feel to be able to express my grief might help, I really don’t know. Thank you for being there, I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you so much. Grandma

    P.S. No errors I could find.

  2. “without fear of burdening others”… why the fear? She deserves all our tears, both for what she herself lost, and for our own loss of her. I miss the days when people sat on the ground in sackcloth and ashes and ripped their clothes and wailed. Now we are all Protestants, we put on nice clothes and politely hug and hear “I’m sorry for your loss” and nod quietly, and if we cry in front of someone we automatically apologize. I hate that. I’m so far beyond “sad” I don”t know a word for it. Did someone just rip out my innards? I don’t believe it’s self-indulgent wallowing – at least not right now when the wound is still so fresh. This is the most profound and shattering loss I have ever known and I don’t think it’s really possible to “go on” without first going THROUGH. I love you, Samantha. Call me any time.

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