I’ve no sense of time but I count the months
I deny the heaviness, I lie in bed.
What’s the point I ask myself,
my anchor is gone.
You start collecting “firsts”
First time you sign a card with your name only
The first big family celebration without him
The first Uber adventure I can’t share.
How hard the crust must be
for it to take so long,
the realization he’s gone
the space not to be filled.
How often I wanted to tell him
something I knew he’d get.
The endless decisions now
mine to make.
Going forward, being here now
(sorry Ram Dass) is all there is.
It always was but part of me
hadn’t yet been tested.
So will I stay “here” or run away?
tempting to zone out
to stuff the rage that creeps up…
to not have to learn to be
…..me.
Epilogue: to all those who’ve gone from an “us” to a “me,” a virtual hug.