I felt the loss yesterday deeper if possible than I have since the day after he died.
It’s like he was never here. Our special memories are mine alone now, our shared journey is past. I wanted so desperately to discuss our election results with him. I wanted to get his reassurance that no matter what happens outside of our home that we would have each other. I wanted the safety of his love, his strength. I wanted him.
When Mike came home on hospice, we had a garage door issue. I am scared of garage doors malfunctioning. God and two husbands know that I have hit enough garage doors, garage walls, and stuff inside our garage while trying to park my car that I should be used to it by now. When our garage door malfunctioned this time, Mike made it to the door, and I demonstrated the issue. He knew immediately the problem, but was too sick to fix it. He had me call a repair guy, and the guy came out, and it was exactly as Mike had diagnosed.
I want that. I want Mike to diagnose this secondary loss, and tell me how to fix it. He hated to see me upset. He had a term for it. “Wound up” He would say ” Baby, don’t get so wound up.” I know he wouldn’t want me to be so sad. I can’t help it.
There are major things happening in my world, and my person isn’t here to talk about it with. My person isn’t here to commiserate with me on this pain, to help me make sense of it all. This is deeper than loneliness. This is what it feels like when your heart breaks.
I did finally get off the couch last night. I went to a cancer support group at my church. I realized when I got there that I was wearing sweats, one of Mikes blue t shirts with a pink hoodie over it and no make up.
Noone I know would recognize me. I barely recognize myself.