Probably the last thing I need right now...

 

To say the nights are almost unbearable is a understatement. What used to a welcome chance to rest up and recharge for the next day has been replaced by waking up at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning staring at the ceiling feeling the emptiness that's become her side of the bed until I can't take it anymore and finally get out of bed to await the sunrise.

There was once a time when I loved sunrises. In my mind a sunrise was a new beginning so to speak. Another chance to finish up unfinished business. A chance to right whatever wrongs you might have done the day before.

But then one of those beautiful sunrises that I had always enjoyed came along and my world fell apart.

You see, just after sunrise almost 6 months ago we discovered my beloved wife of 46 years had suddenly just died in her sleep.

Nothing in my 66 years of life could have prepared me for the initial shock of desperately begging her to, please wake up.

She was gone and no amount of begging could change it.

There was no warning of any kind. 

No chance to say goodbye.

She was just gone.

For all practical purposes most of me died right along with her that day.

I suppose at some point I'm going to have to accept what happened.

But today's not that day...

Kevin McGinty

That's pretty cool...

 

Truth is, I'll probably never get this far...

 

In Their Footsteps

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You think you're prepared.

You go in with boxes and garbage bags. You tell yourself you’ll be strong.

You think, “It’s just stuff.”

But then you open a drawer.

And their handwriting is still on a notepad.

Their scent still clings to the sleeves of that sweater you begged them to throw out every winter.

Their shoes are still lined up by the door like they might be back any minute.

You find yourself sitting on the floor, holding a shirt to your face, trying to memorize a smell you know is already fading.

You whisper “I’m sorry” to objects you tuck away in boxes.

You fold things neatly like you’re still trying to take care of them.

You pause before tossing something out, because what if that was their favorite?

No one tells you how loud the silence is when their closet door creaks open.

No one tells you how heavy an empty coat can feel in your hands.

No one tells you that cleaning out a space can shatter you all over again.

It’s not just cleaning.

It’s letting go of little pieces you were never ready to lose.

It’s closing a drawer for the last time and feeling like you’re betraying them.

It’s packing up the life you shared, while your heart silently begs, please don’t make me.

Because deep down, you’re not just packing away their things —

you’re packing away pieces of yourself too.

And you’re terrified of what’s left when all of it is gone.

I wasn't prepared for any of this...

 

Short answer? 

No.

The one thing that's kept me from completely losing my mind since Linda died is the hope and firmly held belief that one day we'd be reunited and spend eternity together in Heaven.

What I've learned since is that there'll be no marriages in Heaven. 

I know, the very small circle of friends I talk to and everything I read say pretty much the same thing,

It'll be something better, they say.

Maybe it's just time for me to accept the fact that it really is over.

Maybe, I don't know.

I don't know how to do that.

And I don't know how much longer I can go on like this...