It took everything in my being not to crawl into that hole with his ashes and those flowers and ask them to bury me with him. Everything. Every. Thing. Because as much as I was not the one who died, there are so many moments in the day when it feels like I did.
But I didn’t crawl in the hole, not that one, anyway. I’ve crawled into the hole I’m supposed to crawl in right now – the hole where I grieve the loss of my husband. I don’t plan to stay in it forever, but I need to stay in it for a while. I have to take a break from being strong, and stoic, and making it all look easy, because it’s not.
There are a few reasons why I didn’t crawl into that hole today. Let me show you them. Pictures, as they say, are worth a thousand words.
So, I’ll cry. A lot. I’ll fall down. A lot. I’ll lean hard on my God, my family, and my friends. A lot. (When I remember to let them know I’m falling apart, which I’m woefully inept at doing.) And I’ll make it through this absolute shithole that I’m in. Occasionally, I might even shower and wear clean underwear, but I’m not making any promises, yet.