Friday, June 28, 2013

I miss him.


“For in grief nothing 'stays put.' One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?

But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, "I never realized my loss till this moment"? The same leg is cut off time after time.” 

― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed


I miss him. 

Sometimes when I am typing at my keyboard I look over to his spot on the couch.  It is so jarringly vacant, it always shakes me.  I see him perfectly, sitting there…with his feet up, his laptop perched on his lap, one hand on the remote and the other to his cheek, talking to customers on his cell phone.

But, he isn’t there.

I miss him.

Sometimes a song comes on the radio and it is one that meant something to us, and I naturally begin singing along with him.  I imagine his hand on mine.  I imagine his smiling eyes, and his body gently rocking back and forth to the beat.

Except he isn’t there.

I miss him.

When I pass by a picture of him I can’t help but trace his face with my finger, like somehow I’ll feel him physically.

But I can’t, really…even though I try.

I miss him.

I still sleep on my side of the bed.  Maybe I’ve moved my head towards the middle a bit, but my body stays on my side.  The other side is his.

Even though he isn’t here.  It’s his.

I miss him.

Sometimes he talks to me.  It isn’t something I hear, but something that seems to just pop up in my thoughts.  Like he is speaking to me telepathically.  He’s always telling me it’s going to be ok.

I’m waiting.

I miss him.

Other times it feels like my soul is pounding against my chest, reaching up to him.  Trying to find him.  There is an urgency about it…a complete stubbornness.  Like it doesn’t have time to wait.  It needs him now.

But I’ll wait anyway.

Though it makes me miss him all the more.

Sometimes the kids will smile a certain way, or say something Ryan would have said.  They all hold giant pieces of him, and it’s hard not to hear him in their voice, or see him in their gait. 

I wish he were here to see just how much they are like him.

I miss him.

It’s like I’m orbiting grief.  Sometimes I’m closer to it, and sometimes I am farther away, but it is always there, stinging my eyes.  Its gravity is what tells me I’m alive…the sadness is testament to my humanity. 

The emotions are a deck of cards in front of me; I seem to pick them blindly each morning.  Will I be angry?  Will I be lost?  Will I be hopeful?  I never know.

I just know I miss him.  That is one thing that stays the same day after day.

I miss him.

I miss him.

Can I just scream that I miss him?

If only it would bring him back.  I would.   There is the push of wanting to wail for him, and the pull of knowing it won’t change anything.  So I go through my day stagnate, with no real inspiration.  Why is showering so important now?  I showered to look good for him.  But I do it…it’s a job now.  Family dinners?  I made those dinners for him.  But I still make them, I know family dinners are even more important now…but still…it seems like a job.  A clean house is the same thing.  A big fat job.

I know I won’t feel like this forever.  But this is where I am today.  I’ve made my way round again in my orbit, closer to the grief, and for however long it takes, I will endure.  I must endure.  I have days that I feel good.  I can smile at his picture.  I can laugh at the songs we loved.  I can feel the sun on my face and actually enjoy it…but those days are the lesser days.

I’ll keep going forward until they are the greater ones.

I miss him.


12 comments:

  1. Lots of love and prayers going your way. <3

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  2. Aw this is so beautiful. May your husband R.I.P and stay true in the faith that he is watching over you all each and every day.

    Stay strong!<3

    P.S I've been following your blog for a while now- I would love it if you followed mine too please, on my life as a type one diabetic teenager? c:

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  3. I love you so much, Meri.

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  4. Such a beautiful post, Meri. So sad, yet so full of love. You are so strong, and loved by so many. I am sorry... so very sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing.

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  5. Meri, words cannot express how my heart is crying for you. Sending prayers for peace and comfort.

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  6. I typed two other full paragraphs. Deleted them both. nothing I can say is more than words and right now you deserve hugs and prayers. always thinking of you.

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  7. My heart aches for you. You are in my thoughs and prayers. ((hugs))

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  8. Thank you for this post. I am missing someone too and you write so much more eloquently than I could about loss and grief. Sending thoughts and prayers to you and your family.

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  9. never a truer sentiment about grief was written.
    ((HUGS))

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  10. Dear Meri, I too have a son with type 1(he was diagnosed two years ago). In the past six months I have lost my Dad, my father-in-law and my counsellor...the following link has helped me as I try to walk this journey of grief ...may it bless you too

    GriefShare Daily Emails ,

    with heartfelt blessings for you and your family




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  11. Blessed be the word of the Lord, for it is He and only He that give us hope. Hold on, dear one, the day will come as promised.

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