It was a glorious sunny day. The kind that shone on all your problems and made them go away. Not hers though. She lied on the couch, covered with two blankets, surrounded by a heap of things she had needed but didn’t care to put away. The mess around her mirrored the mess inside her.

She stopped picking up the phone and returning any messages and emails. What more was there to say? What could anyone say to her to make her feel better? To take some pain away? And she didn’t want to hear the sigh they all made when she gave the same recycled answer to the same questions. How are you? How are you feeling?

How was she supposed to feel? A month ago a freak accident where no one was to blame took her husband. Her best friend. The person she had been so used to having around her that she kept expecting to see him sitting at the dining table, working on his laptop.

If she managed to sleep semi-soundly, there was a blissful moment in the morning when she thought that she would find her husband next to her in bed. But that was so short. And so painful when the realization hit. Never again. Never again would that happen.

Everyone around her meant well. Checking in, making sure she ate, offering advice. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was that he was gone. And he wasn’t coming home. No more plans, no more Scrabble tournaments and pillow fights, no more kisses and hugs. Even his shirts lost his smell.

Her sister told her she had to go through the stages of grief and she would somehow heal. It felt like her process only had one stage…emptiness. She didn’t know where to turn, where to go, how to live. How to find the desire to do all that?

4 thoughts on “Emptiness

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.