Tomorrow makes one month since I lost my son.
A another milestone I never wanted, but must now survive.
Everything feels like an event I have to brace myself for and get myself through. Nothing is automatic anymore.
Everything about this feels wrong. Deeply, painfully wrong.
Like the world shifted and never settled back into place.
Like my life is misaligned, and so am I...inside my own body, inside my own life.
The nightmares at night, hearing the gunshot, searching for pieces of him everywhere, terrified that if I don’t look hard enough I’ll lose him all over again. Waking up is no relief. It just means I have to remember.
So I pretend. I avoid. I perform normalcy when I can, not because I’m okay, but because I need to survive one more moment in time. Sometimes that’s all I can do...get through the minute I’m in.
I am stuck in this in-between place.
The space between when I had him and when I will be with him again.
That place is unbearable.
It’s where the longing lives.
It’s where time moves forward even though my heart refuses to follow.
And tomorrow...one month, just reminds me that this is now my forever.