You know that feeling when you wake up from a terrible nightmare,
that reassurance that washes over you upon the realization that everything existed purely in
your subconscious? I still get these
moments, where, briefly, I think I only imagined that CJ is gone. But just
as soon as it came, the nanosecond passes and the grief comes rushing
back in just as fast and just as hard as reliving that first moment of my new reality - the one without
her : "We had to let her go."
I read something awhile back about
the first year of grieving the loss of someone you can’t live without and one
thing in particular stood apart from the myriads of other grief advice. The writer said to "enjoy" the
first year of grieving. What a harsh
word- enjoy. But the point of
it was that CJ will never feel closer to me than this first year without her. I don't know if I believe that (because, let's be honest, her death has challenged everything I've ever believed in). Then again, what the hell do I
know about this process? I have never experienced
a devastation this profound and deeply rooted within me, settling in to the very core of my being - a permanent resident. Its stark and hollowed branches encircle my bones, a constant chant of sorrow reverberating through me. I want so desperately to be sure of some things - like that something,anything can grow from these mangled limbs. To hope, someday, for a sprout - its face upturned to the sun.
But, for now, I am only sure of one thing at this point in my process: I changed the moment I met her and I am forever changed by her death. I only hope that whenever I emerge from this process, I can find that elusive acceptance.
