Today, I was doing laundry which is nothing fancy or particularly eventful. Like most days, I was simply going about my ordinary life like I have been doing for quite some time now. Except, there was a moment today that was anything but usual. After putting clean sheets on my son’s bed, I paused when I walked into our basement rec. room. I stopped and I looked at the familiar sectional couch. I stood still because I remembered.
I paused because, for the briefest of moments, Mike died all over again .
Once upon a time, Mike had stood in this very same room.
He used to take up space in the world.
And, he had a place in our lives.
I miss this place in time when Mike was real.
I imagine I always will…
Not so long ago, Mike made my youngest son a fort using the sectional couch, bedsheets, duct tape and hockey sticks. Over four years ago, a man who is not his father made my little son a fort because he loved his mother. And, now, all of that is over. Everything that was is now not. It is all gone. Every last bit of our beautiful life has disappeared. Now, it only exists in my memory.
This moment felt heavy. As I stood in the room where all this love took place, I grieved for the life I thought we were going to share together as a family. I remembered the love with a grateful heart and I missed Mike. I broke free from my thoughts and I said aloud, “how could you die on me?”. Of course, Mike didn’t answer. I suppose his answer is left to be found suspended in the silence that ricocheted off the walls of the room. *Sigh.
It is impossible to make sense of any of this even 3.10 years later. Some moments I can not believe that Mike is dead. How could someone so full of life just disappear from my life. I am frozen by the weight of that question. I don’t have the answer… And, really what does the answer matter? He is gone. And, he is not coming back.
At nearly four years, I am able to live with the loss; but there are some moments that still catch me by surprise. For the most part, I no longer for the past as much as I yearn for the future. This is the evolution of grief and I am glad for it.