I just want to be with you, B.
I can’t believe you’re gone. It’s a wave of panic that comes over me every time I let myself go there. There, to the place of full acknowledgement, painfully aware and present to your physical absence. You were the heavy in my arms, but now, they are heavier with you not in them.
I am trying, B.
Trying to take one grace-filled step after the other. I am making my bed and trying not to crawl back in it. I am showing up and want to hide, all in the same moment. When you are newly bereaved, again, even simple things are hard.