It’s getting harder to wake up again. The void is just there, and unavoidable, ironically. I do fill it with work and snuggles and friends and company and more work and whatever I can find. But there’s nothing to really replace that emptiness.
I did cry a few times these weeks. Silent, angry, hopeful tears. But there hasn’t been that one, brutal, cleansing cry, when the lungs collapse in agony as if that one particle of life missing was exactly the one that sustained “reality”. That one connection that does not succumb to any rational explanation. Simply existing. For a million reasons, but no matter what.
I wish I could cry. But I’m too hopeful for now. Too positive. I still feel her almost breaking my back in a bear hug. I still feel her laying on my belly, doing the same exercise as me, breathing in and out slowly, remembering a moment of peace and love, recalling that feeling. “I don’t have to recall anything.”
I know she’s okay. She will be. She’s so incredibly strong. I wish she could really help her mom, but I think and fear it’s too much. And yet I hope, because I can’t, because I don’t know anyone else who could.. It’s not fair. She shouldn’t have to. But It’s not within my power. What is, I do, to the spot, with as much patience and perseverance as is called for.
Almost nothing is within my power.
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