Seven Months

It’s been seven months since my heart was ripped out of my chest and shattered into a million pieces. Seven months since everything changed but also stayed the same. Because besides living without my heart, my center, everything else is the same. I get up everyday, exercise, go to work. The sun still shines, the world still turns. Day becomes night becomes day again. People continue to live their lives. We continue to live our lives, even if we are just going through the motions. Everything is vastly different but impossibly the same.

Seven months and already the calls and messages are dropping off. I get it. I do. People have their own lives to live. They have other things to think about. They aren’t living with the devastation every day. We are not the first thing they think about. But you would think that family would be there from the beginning and that they wouldn’t disappear. And most of my family has been great. But it’s friends that have really stepped up. In some cases people I barely knew before who have gone out of their way to be present. Friends going through their own shit still make it a point to let us know they are present. And I am eternally grateful for those still here. I still need you. I will need you for a long time. Maybe forever. I may not say it or ask for it. It is very hard for me to be the one reaching out. I try to acknowledge every text and message. But sometimes it’s just too much. And sometimes I forget. But every text and message and phone call is appreciated. It does help to know I’m supported. That I’m being thought of.

I forget a lot of things these days. If I don’t respond to a message immediately I likely will forget to respond. Yesterday I made coffee and forgot to drink it. I couldn’t remember if I fed the dog. I forgot to leave something at the door for someone (though he forgot to pick it up so at least that worked out). If I don’t write it down it won’t get done. But even then I often forget. I need to set alerts in my calendar to really remember things. This is grief brain. It’s a very real thing. I am still in a fog much of the time. In my own world, where everything is hazy. I can’t see clearly. It’s a chore to get from point A to point B. Doing anything takes significant effort even if it doesn’t look that way. Because my mind is in the past. I am living in the past. Happier times. Wondering “what if”. Just, everything. This isn’t living. It’s merely existing.

I’ve seen some memes or posts saying things along the lines of 2019 sucked, here’s to a better year next year. But next year can’t be better. No year can be better. Because every year from now until I die is a year without Ariella in it. Maybe the sentiment is the hope that nothing tragic will happen but nothing worse can happen. I am living through the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. So I’m just in for decades of bad years.

I panic at the thought of the next few weeks, few months, few years. My respiratory rate increases, my heart races, and I shake. There is a pounding in my head, a lump in my throat, and pain in my stomach. Grief is physical. It beats you up, shreds you, and kicks you while you are down. It manifests in so many ways but I find for me sadness, apathy, and anxiety to be most prevalent. The anxiety has ramped up lately, I’m guessing due to the time of year. I just don’t know how I’m going to get through this.