The shock has officially worn off, and the waterfall is in full force...drenching me in my new reality.
He is gone.
He isn't coming back.
You would think after 6 months all my wounds would have scabbed over, but my emotions are rawer than ever. I see with perfect clarity what has happened. I'm feeling the grief in every pore.
I'm falling apart.
Today I was sure my eye sockets would cave in from all the tears I have shed the past week. I look over at his spot on the couch and it physically hurts knowing he won't sit there again.
The worst part is the kids are in the same boat. They are hurting more today than ever. I've seen more tears from them this week than in the past 6 months. I feel completely helpless. All the words I use to comfort them, I try to internalize to comfort myself. I try to believe, "It will get better. It won't always be this hard."
But even though I do believe those things, right now, "getting better" seems so far off. I wish I could numb it all away for them...give them a shot of love that would hold them over day to day. But instead I have to watch my children travel through the horrific realization that their father has died.
I've tried talking to them about the afterlife. I've tried explaining that we don't see the full picture here on Earth, but I'm realizing what they need most is just a quiet understanding. Hugs. And I love yous. Explanations and promises of a brighter future aren't sinking in right now. The hurt fogs over the hope.
I read a story in a hospice book as I was waiting for one of my boys to get out of therapy. It likened the person who has passed to a ship. When the ship is close to our shore it looks strong and magnificent, but as it goes out to sea it seems smaller and insignificant. The fact is that ship is still strong and magnificent...our perspective just makes it seem diminished and out of our reach. But as the ship leaves our view, and we are saying Goodbye, there are others on further shores that see the ship coming their way, and are saying, "Here it comes!"
He is still Ryan, somewhere.
Somehow that above sentence helps me a bit.
He is still Ryan. He hasn't just evaporated. He isn't gone forever.
Someone needs to tell my tear ducts that.