Six.

“Isn’t it lovely, all alone
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
Tear me to pieces, skin to bone
Hello, welcome home”
 

I am not really sure how to start this because edging on half a years’ time has me flooded with mixed emotions.

Can it really be six months already? Or, has it only been six months?

Time in inevitable.

Time keeps moving on regardless of how you hurt, regardless of who you’re missing and regardless of how broken your heart is.

Time is an interpretation.

In six months there’s been significant change; I have begun to learn to parent on my own, I have begun to understand that this is my life now, and there is acceptance lack of desire to fight it anymore.

I have welcomed new people into my life. I have reconnected with people who were kind of always there. I have let that many more go.

Did you know that somewhere between 5 and 6 months the smell of a person begins to fade? Somewhere since the last time I buried my face in his clothes and inhaled him deeply to now, the scent of him no longer lingers as it used to.

I had convinced myself that I was doing okay, and right until the moment on Sunday when I found myself buried in a pile of his clothing I had furiously ripped out of his drawers desperately seeking a tiny bit of “his smell”, I had actually believed myself.

The grief comes in waves. Most days I am able to tread the water famously, body surfing the waves with a brave smile and a stiff upper lip. And then…well, and then. Then there is heaviness and suffocation. There is a loneliness so palpable it’s felt on every square inch of my body.

Pre-K graduation. Birthday parties. Soccer tournaments. All of those moments when I get to walk into some function filled with smiling and proud mommies and daddies and I get to sit in the back alone, smiling through the pain counting the seconds until I can get to my car and cry. Honestly, the moments I feel loneliest are the ones where I am often surrounded by people. The ones where pretending to be okay is the hardest. The ones where all I long for is a hand to hold and someone to help me carry the 6 thousand things my girls have inevitably collected along the way. Someone to help me parent and someone to take as much pride in the accomplishments of my children the same way I do.

I have been super fortunate for the last 6 months to have been surrounded by the most supportive, incredible group of people I could have asked for. People who have been here before my world came crashing down and have been helping me sort through debris since. People who have come into my life since Andre’s death offering me new perspective and maybe a moments respite from the sadness.  People who have kept me afloat in one way or another, and to them I will forever be grateful.

So as six months comes closer, there is an sadness hanging over me. There are moments of, “how could it be 6 months already?” because the pain still all feels so new and the wounds still seem to be open. And then there’s the part of me that thinks about it closing in on 6 months and says, “it’s only been 6 months?” because honestly each day that passes often feels like an eternity.

The only certainty I can constantly remind myself of is that I am moving forward, because time says so.

I will never move on, but I will move forward.

For my children.

For my family and my friends.

For myself,

and also because it’s what Andre would want.

 

 

 

 

 

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