The accepted truth is that it gets easier over time. That the searing hurt becomes less and that the memories will be less harsh and painful. For the most part, on most days now, that is true. Day to day life goes on and I am able to not only function but am starting to have glimpses of my new normal. How my life will be – lived with only 3 children living and one always missing.
Yet the reality is that I’m haunted. The memories flood me unexpectedly, rampaging my heart and mind and leaving me struggling to see past the moment.
I am haunted by his pain and by his fears. Haunted by his loneliness, by his choice, the emptiness that he felt – and by the emptiness he left behind by his death.
I am ravaged by the memories of him that contradict in their rawness.
I see his mischievous grin and hear his toddler giggles…my hand remembers his tiny grasp in mine as we walked…his hand so warm and soft and so small inside mine.
My mind reels as it flashes with images of him, lost. I see him again…even now, as then, my eyes refusing to translate what they saw to my mind.My hand remembers the impossibility of touch as I reached to him. Unable to believe what I was seeing and feeling.
Haunted, and hurting. Somedays, every bit now, as then.