Grief

I don’t know why, but after 555 days suddenly I can’t breathe.  I feel smothered by anger, sadness, confusion, responsibility and fatigue.

All I can think about is what is lost; all the experiences we were going to share, the pride I know I would have felt watching him be an endlessly amazing father and radiographer, the chance to be a mother, my career, my social life, my future.

I spend all my time trying not to show Jake how broken I feel, crying when he’s not there and closing myself off pretending to be strong, positive and cheerful when he is.  He’s got a brain injury, but he’s not stupid; he knows.

I’m sitting here now on the sofa in the lounge with hot tears splashing on my laptop, trying to bring myself back under control before I climb into bed with my Jake. 

I know this is grief, I know this is normal and necessary, I know it will pass.

But it hurts, in a way I can’t even begin to explain.  I am burning at the centre of my soul and I want to close my eyes and sleep forever so I don’t have to feel it anymore.

But then my beautiful man would be all alone and that would be so much worse.

So tomorrow is day 556 and I will get up and start again.  Because I know this is grief and I know it will pass.