Maybe

These last couple of days, I have lived through some of the most horrible hours of my life. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’ve been feeling worse instead of better. Maybe it’s because each new day without Anthony drives home the reality that he is gone...and that he is never coming back.

I’ve held myself hostage in my daughter’s spare bedroom at her house for several days now. I think I’ve cried more tears in the last few days than I have since I’ve been born. I was supposed to go back to my home before the weekend, but I’ve either been too distraught to get myself out of bed, or I’ve had a splitting headache that makes me sick to my stomach and keeps me flat on my back. I know what some of you would say. You’d tell me that Anthony would not want me to be living like this....but, I know, if he does see me, that he understands. And, if he were here, he would just love me and stay close to me until I got through it...whatever this is. 

Is this what real grief looks like? I mean, is this what true, honest, raw grief really is? Does it paralyze and overcome anyone else like this? 

Maybe being away from my home and isolated like this is not a bad thing. Maybe it’s good that I don’t have to put on a happy face for anyone, or answer the phone or the front door, or go outside to get the mail or water the plants. Maybe it’s good I don’t have to do any of those things because maybe, just maybe, I can really get in touch with the pain of my devastating loss...the pain of losing my dear, sweet Anthony...my soul mate and my very best friend...the other side of me. Maybe this time alone is allowing me to get to the rawest, most tender part of my wound and touch it. Maybe, for me, that’s the only way it’s going to heal...I’m going to heal. 

Maybe most people don’t do it like this. Maybe they don’t give themselves the luxury of isolating themselves, covering their gaping wounds with their bare hands and praying for some kind of comfort...some little reprieve from the pain. Maybe most people don’t let themselves respond to their grief on that primal level...like a dog, hunkered down in hiding, licking its wounds.  But I’ve never done things the way most people do them, so why start now? 

Maybe I should leave myself alone and just be true to myself...do what I need to do and stop worrying about what anyone thinks or says. Maybe I need to remind myself that one of the things Anthony loved most about me was that I'm not like everyone else. Maybe I need to write myself a bunch of post-it notes and put them up all around me as reminders...remind myself that Anthony loved me, not in spite of my differences, but because of them. I’ll never forget how he brought me out of a really bad spell by placing post-it notes inside the cupboards, on the medicine cabinet, on the steering wheel of my car, in my drawers and closet, in the shower...even on the canned goods in the pantry...post-it notes everywhere...telling me how I deserved all good things...how special I was...how beautiful and talented I was...and most of all...how I deserved to be loved by him because he loved me more than anything or anyone. Anthony always knew what to do and how to take care of me. He knew how to help me when I didn’t know how to help myself. 

How do I go on living without him? How do I breathe, knowing he is no longer breathing the same air with me? Has anyone out there ever really survived losing the love of their life? Tell me, am I going to just walk through the rest of my life without Anthony on autopilot...not really feeling, not really caring, not really living? Because that’s the way it feels right now. 

Maybe I need to be patient and just hold on. Maybe I just need to ride this out, no matter how much it hurts. Maybe, if I close my eyes and imagine Anthony here, right next to me, I can make it through this. Maybe, if I tell myself he is here, I’ll feel him. Maybe, if I imagine hearing him talk to me and telling me I can do it, I’ll believe I can. Maybe, just maybe, if I fall asleep, he’ll come to me in a dream and I will see him, and hear him, and feel him... and maybe, he’ll let me know he’s not really gone.