Now, after a day at work, I don't want to make lemonade like I said this morning. I'm sitting here, bawling my eyes out, dripping on the Kevin-cat, and hurting hurting hurting because I just want him to walk in the door. Just one time more. Just one.
Like the AC asking for just one more look at Rich's coffin. Just one more mummy.
I just want to see him, hold him, kiss him, be with him once more time. It's a physical pain that hits me in the stomach over and over again. It stops me moving thinking being existing as me. All I am is this huge ball of tears and snot and grief and want and need and so many, many things.
32 weeks really matters. No, I don't know why, but I know it does. It does. I've known all day what time it was, what I was doing 32 weeks ago. When he died. When I saw the fire engines. When the police came. When I saw him. When my mother came. When I told the AC. All day, what I was doing 32 weeks ago.
So now I'm doing exactly what I was doing 32 weeks ago. Crying.
Without the sense of disbelief, without the hope of a baby this time, without the hope that it was all some crazy mistake by someone else.
Just crying. Just crying and crying and it's getting on my nerves now.
I just want him home.
3 comments:
Hello there.
Thanks so much for stopping by and leaving your enlightened comment.
I have been reading and soaking up your thoughts on your blog.
Life seems to have handed you an experience that draws you closer to Heavenly Father in ways that only death of a loved one can do.
I hope your weekend is one of peace and comfort. Thirty-two weeks is not long. Not long at all. Lemonade is ambitious. Add extra sugar.
((hugs))
(((((hugs))))) Stuff the lemonade and make a limoncello instead! Or add the lemons to your long island ice tea!!!! You can cry if you want to!!!
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