Loretta Was Here

I usually only ever feel overwhelmed when I try to fit myself somewhere on the spectrum of "normal" human behavior. Growing up, being different was our "crime", our "fatal flaw" that we were to cover up from prying eyes at all costs. The ultimate reproof from mom was "What would people THINK?!?!?" and so ingrained is that ever important question that I'm sometimes a dysfunctional adult because of it.  It's easy to SAY "f&%k it! I don't care what they think!... much more difficult to actually DO.   

People say grief lasts a year. Or it lasts 2 years. Or 5 years or 7 years but the uncomfortable as hell truth is that grief’s time frame is variable and coincides directly with the number of years I’ll be alive. People don’t realize that grief never really leaves you instead becoming a deep part of who you are as a being because people stop talking about it…  At 5 years I posted in a grief support group how I still miss him some days so badly it physically hurts and the comment following was how ‘Wow. That’s not encouraging at all. 5 years?!’  Yes, and more. I’ll let you know when that changes. But there are still days when he’s all I can think about or even attempt to not think about. I just don’t usually let people know that. Wouldn’t wanna be ‘not encouraging’, now would we?   

It's 2018. Woot. I can assure you that if you've posted on social media, "Happy New Year" or the like, I've sneered and scrolled on past. Happy. What's that? New Year. So what? But I do care. Life does matter. And there must be a reason that I'm called to continue on for so very long without the love of my life. We had such plans! Starting that Thursday that he didn't come home, we were going to be spending more time together and less time apart. We had lists of things we were planning to do. But plans are just that... Now, all the firsts have happened... twice... 2 Thanksgivings, 2 Christmas's, 2 New years. Really? 2 New years? 2017 and 2018. Damn... And I am lost. I see glimpses of who I might be, based on past experience. But I am lost; like half of me has been cut the fuck out leaving a gaping, bleeding hole where my heart used to be.... but no. If my heart were not there anymore, I would not hurt like I do. I feel like I'm supp

It's taken a year for me to even begin to accept that no, Fernando doesn't live in this house anymore. He lives in Our Father's house. A lot of things that used to matter really don't anymore. Nothing matters the same as it once did. Whether it matters more or less, it matters differently now. Words don't mean the same. The first to morph were simple words like "ok" and "fine" whose meanings changed immediately never again to mean the same. Words like grief and widow have become part of who I am, rather than concepts that affect other people. Even the feeling of grief itself was and is new, raw and more real - with a depth of feeling it never had before. Time loses all meaning. Its passing is measured in before and after, and all the months since before have been jumbled and confusing. I barely remember the summer of 2016, save for tiny pockets of peace in a sea of turbulent emotions. Things are dated by the passage of time - 'well,

It happens every evening as the sun starts to sink on the horizon, making the sky glow a soft yellow gold. It never seems to matter what I've been doing before that time, but as the day fades into night the sadness sets in. And I cry. Of course crying is not relegated to the night time; would that it were. But something about the setting sun and the end of another day without you by my side makes it impossible for me to stay composed. There's no trigger. There's no suddenly sad thought. I just cry. And I miss you

I’ve had people ask me how I’m doing. Honestly, sometimes I just don’t know what to say in response. It depends on when you catch me. Frankly, the best times are when I’m talking to someone besides myself…. especially when  it’s not about how I’m doing. So if you’re over in my hood, hit me up. First and foremost, it does not seem like I’ve been alone now for over five months. On the other hand, it’s been forever since I saw him, touched him, held him, heard his voice. And I think of him and his absence constantly… Still, it’s getting a LITTLE less difficult to move through the days. (The nights, that’s different…) I never know when it’s going to hit me - scooping dog food into bowls in the morning, paying bills at my computer, sitting in the parking lot of the grocery store, pet store, post office or drugstore… or in the middle of my living room. It feels a bit like walking along the beach, gentle breeze, warm sun, surf at my feet when SWOOOOSH… with the force of a tsunami I’m

Starting over... but not, at 57. I could see this at 75, but 57 is wrong. It's like starting over, but I've already done all the important shit... Get a degree: check Find my soul mate: check Marry my soulmate: check Buy a home: check Have beautiful children with soulmate: check Plan for retirement with soulmate: in progress Pay off mortgage: check Then... you died... Now, I have a house, two daughters, two dogs... and no you. What now?