Sorrow is a funny thing. It seems like it is always lurking out there, that it is always present inside my mind.
Today at work I spoke with a co-worker who had lost a sibling around the same time as my husband, Kevin, died. I asked after her sibling, how things were going. My co-worker replied that things were still quite rough and progress seemed to be rather slow. ‘This I understand,’ I told her, ‘you see, your life has been entwined with another’s completely. To have someone torn out of the fabric of your day-to-day life, leaves big gaping holes along with lots of dark holes that can swallow you up for days on end.’ It’s not about healing, it isn’t. It is more about acceptance.
My past is all tangled up with Kevin’s, who he was, what he thought. He will always be with me because of that. When people ask me things that may cause me to think back, then there will always be that blend, of him and me, what happened to us, but that only I am here to recall. It can’t be otherwise. It can’t help but be painful to cast my mind back. I loved him and he’s gone, that’s not easy. Same for my children, when they remember growing up it has to be tough.
Memories can’t be caught in your hands or held in your arms, they can’t be weighed or measured. They can be comforting and crippling at the same time. Sometimes they come rushing to the surface without warning, and sometimes they get all tangled up in my mind, because I want what I can’t have but I remember so well. Damn hard.