I cannot think. I cannot.
I can only cry.
Two and a half years later.
Time has healed. I have healed.
And tonight I cry because I cannot see where he would fit.
This life that I am chasing, pursuing,
the things that are new and different,
our friends’ new babies,
the many people in my life who never knew him at all,
my church home,
my dinner plates,
my coffee mugs,
my dining room table,
this very chair I’m sitting in –
he knows none of these.
All of these things have sewn together the gap. Yet the wound lays open tonight.
I didn’t want to do this without him. Any of this. This ache will always, always be with me, won’t it?
I cannot run from it, hide from it, write enough to numb it.
It is here.
It is mine.
And I cannot breathe under the weight of it.
Closing a gap does not heal a wound.