912

It’s 9:12 am…

9     times today, I’ve said: “I miss you.”

1     awful awakening… as I face yet another day without you.

2     times I’ve cried for you… so far today.

It’s 9:12 am, on the 912th day without you.

The sun shines and I think of you. The rain falls and I ache for you. The wind howls and I cry for you. The sunsets and I look for you. The stars glow and I dream of you. I wish I may; I wish I might have just one more moment with you.

 

March 11, 2020, marks 912 days since Ava took her last breath. I miss her more every day. She will never be just a memory or a fleeting thought to me. I still have to remind myself to breathe. I still have to tell myself, “this is real, she is gone.” I physically have to awaken my brain to that reality every day and in doing so, she dies over and over again.

 

I wander around with that “something is missing” feeling all day long. It is taxing on my weary heart. It is heavy on my broken soul. Surviving is exhausting, yet I must go on. I carry my load, suffering and all because there is no end to this pain. No end until the end is here.

 

In the meantime, I continue to seek the signs of a greater unseen presence. I work to be mindful of my grief and open to greater knowledge. If I must survive, then I will do so the only way I can, by seeking a way to thrive amid utter sorrow.

 

It has been 912 days since 9/11. Ava should be 14.5 on 3/13.

See the sequences…

1,2,3,4,5

11,12,13,14,15

Just numbers?

No, signs.

It’s how I know…

I am not alone.

I will see her again.

I can do something with all this pain.

 

This pain and reality that our society struggles with grief is fuel for the fire in my heart. Death has opened a door to a perspective no one wants, yet grief is inevitable. A glimpse into a place of what could be and all the possibilities of greater understanding are before me. Sometimes it is overwhelming, sometimes it awakening. Mostly is it frustrating.

The “don’t say this, don’t say that” society has made grief even more isolating. No one knows what to say. They can’t know what to say. It is not possible when there are no words. What if something is better than nothing? What if we can do better?

My heart is often empty and upside down. I have to work to flip it and fill it a little each day. Some days it is just too exhausting, but it is necessary. Every once in a while someone reaches out and fills my cup for me and for that I am grateful!

Two years 6 months and it is still so hard.

 912 days and still…

no words to ease the sorrow.

no answers to why.

the pain radiates.

tears flow.

fighting to survive.

 

912 days and still…

my heartbeats.

I pray.

I do the day.

I breathe.

I am alive.

 

I pick my broken cup up each day. It cuts my hand. I scream. I throw it.

I grab the glue and squeeze what little is left.

I put the shattered shards together and fill it.

Sometimes it leaks. Sometimes it holds. Sometimes there is only a drop. Somedays the cup runneth over.

I try.