Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I’m editing a post, or watching a movie, or playing with the dogs, or talking to a friend, and I forget that Aaron left me. I forget my family died. I forget how miserable I am. I long for those moments. And yet, they’re moments that I don’t even get to appreciate until after they’re over. I can think “oh hey, that was a moment of [joy, or contentment, or ease]. That was nice.” Then my heart starts radiating a deep pain again, and I’m back in my misery.
Sometimes this doesn’t feel real. It feels like a nightmare, and that I’ll wake up any minute to find my life back to normal and my family back together. To find he’s right beside me in bed, and I can grab onto his arm, and feel the warmth of his body, and hear his voice consoling me, calling me Peanut, and telling me that it’s all okay.
And then sometimes it feels so real I can’t even breath. The truth of it hits me with such force, like a mule kicking me in the heart from the inside out, and it hurts so god damned much.
Sometimes it hurts less. Like when I went over to Jessica’s for Passover, or to the Easter party at Drew’s and got distracted. At first I didn’t think I’d allow myself to get distracted. I kept finding myself holding my breath, or doubling over in pain, or completely fucking spacing out. And then… it just happened. I actually let go, and had a good time for a while.
Sometimes Ken texts me to ask how I am, and my response is “I don’t know.” And that’s true. I have no idea how I am right now. Then I think about how Jessica told me that “it’s a process.” She’s STILL going through a divorce, so she knows. “It’s a process” has become my mantra. I keep repeating to myself over and over.
Sometimes I will feel okay, and then I won’t, and then I will, and then I won’t again. And so on and so forth until it gets easier and easier, and then one day I will actually be okay.