In the last six months it seems as though my old companion time has now become my arch nemesis. On the hard days time crawls by me like a sick rabid animal trying to find his final resting place. On the mild days it is fleeting like a humming bird buzzing by in search of precious nectar. Time no longer does what I will it to do almost as if to spite me. On the days that I feel like I am in anticipation the seconds click in my head like footsteps on a mausoleum floor. I am not sure why anticipation has this affect on the clock or exactly what I am anticipating but the mix of time and anticipation is a toxic bitter cocktail that is impossible to swallow. My aticipation grows with the approaching holiday and my questions reverberate so loudly…How will I cope? Where can I escape? and as the anticipation and the questions mount time cowards in the corner making its presence known only by its lack of cooperation.

Sometimes when I am somewhere familiar I find my mind playing games with me. I am not sure if they are games of protection, comfort, or just my mind doing what it is used to. When I am at home I expect to see J.T. coming down the stairs…when I set the table I still set his place. Today I was at his elementary school and I watched the fourth grade pour out of their classes into the cafeteria. I didn’t watch with sadness or remorse but with anticipation. The anticipation that any moment he would emerge into the crowd of round happy faces. When he doesn’t appear I have almost a moment of panic, then I remember…he won’t be there. Change is so difficult to accept on a small scale, so I can only imagine losing a piece of yourself would take a bit longer. I don’t know if I will move into a place of acceptance or if these expectations will remain with me for eternity.

I find that grief has now pushed me into the dank bowels of a dark cave. I am alone, cold and afraid. The familiar to me now seems strange and the once comforting details of my life seem insignificant. I know longer waste the days dreaming of the future because it has become overwhelming. The past is a safe place to dwell now; here I can remember his words, his eyes, his touch. My heart constantly aches to be with him and refuses to let me move forward for fear of forgetting. It has become so full to capacity with memories and regrets that it has lost the ability to let love move in or out and it just remains a locked tomb of precious preservation. My body somehow still manages to move me through the days but my heart refuses staying behind feeding my mind tempting visions of what was. I feel like I must decide weather to move forward with my body, or stay behind and watch the dust settle on my heart.

Dear J.T.,

Your presence here is felt everyday. You move me through the desolate days by gently nudging me to experience life for you. Your words often ring like beautiful music in my ears. Your heart beats as one with mine in perfect timing. You help me to face the fears your absence brings by holding my hand. I can see beauty by looking through your eyes. Your love covers me like a warm blanket, and your smile inspires me to keep going.

My grief is now like a glass cage that surrounds me and contains only the bare essentials to sustain life. There is nothing inside to take for granted and nothing to waste. People can come peer in and gaze at the magnitude of my situation but are not allowed entrance to comfort, assist, or truly understand. Perhaps the cage represents the walls I have built around my heart to prevent future breakage or the fragile loneliness and personal isolation of grief, I am not yet certain. I do however believe the key to my freedom lies somewhere in acceptance a concept that so far continues to elude me.