No apologies

I won’t apologize for the darkness This is my process. This is how I heal. It is for me. It is for him. It is because I don’t know what else to do...
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It’s just like they say....the grief comes and goes in waves. You are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And my mind can’t seem to understand why I can’t text you. I still check the license plate of every black truck thinking it will be yours. I still daydream about how we will run into each other at the grocery store some day. I still think you’re going to call and tell me this isn’t real.
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Of course, I know it’s real. Today is just harder than yesterday. Having to do normal adult things is hard. Trying to smile is hard. Being okay is hard. I am hurting. Everyone who knew you is hurting and the world keeps moving and it feels so wrong.
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This is the fruitful darkness and I have no intention to bloom anytime soon. I don’t think anyone can deal with loss “right”. I don’t think we are meant to fully comprehend death. But I am learning. I’m not trying to run around my pain, I’m walking right through it. I still have moments where I feel I might crack, like the world has been turned upside down, and I want to scream out in agony. And so I do, I scream and I crack and I cry. I collapse. I let myself collapse. And then I sit. And breathe. And remember. And wait for Grace.
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This experience of loss has been both heart wrenching and beautiful. Devastating and God-confirming. And while my human form may be crumbling at times like today, I can feel my soul expanding into new understanding. In time I will remember the perfection of all that is. In time.
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Until then...Slowly, one breath at a time I keep walking through the ache. Bearing your existence in my heart. Praying and praying for the patience to wait to see you again. Head bowed down, ego cut, heart pulsing, repeating I am love, you are love, we are love. I am love, you are love, we are love. I am love, you are love, we are love...
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I can feel you happy. I can imagine you playing with Ozzy. I can see you smiling. I beg you to speak to me. All I hear back is... “write about me.”