Three months today since Greg died.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like three months.
I can feel the date markers before they get here. The anticipation of the date marker is almost as bad as the date itself. This month is worse than last month. I pray that's not a trend.
Thoughts about Greg are constant today. One thought runs into the next thought which runs into the next. Memories fill my head and won't let anything else in.
Greg was tough - strong - a rock for everyone in his life. I don't know what caused him to hang himself, but I know it wasn't weakness. He was strong enough. He was planning on living - opening an LLC - licensing his trailer for 5 years. Anger? Most likely.
The memories today are about his sadness - the times he cried - the pain he suffered (both physically and emotionally) - the heartache - the disappointment with himself - the shame - the lies - the secrets.
I'm living in a cyclone of memories today - Greg's pain and mine - flying around and around in a whirlpool of tears - both his and mine - until the beginning and the end are blurred and indefinable.
I've shed more tears than I could measure over Greg's pain - for years. Hurting for Greg is not a new experience. Hurting this deeply - is.
Will the fourth of every month hurt like this (or worse) for the rest of my life? I have a feeling that it will.
It feels like a minute.
It feels like forever.
It doesn't feel like three months.
I can feel the date markers before they get here. The anticipation of the date marker is almost as bad as the date itself. This month is worse than last month. I pray that's not a trend.
Thoughts about Greg are constant today. One thought runs into the next thought which runs into the next. Memories fill my head and won't let anything else in.
Greg was tough - strong - a rock for everyone in his life. I don't know what caused him to hang himself, but I know it wasn't weakness. He was strong enough. He was planning on living - opening an LLC - licensing his trailer for 5 years. Anger? Most likely.
The memories today are about his sadness - the times he cried - the pain he suffered (both physically and emotionally) - the heartache - the disappointment with himself - the shame - the lies - the secrets.
I'm living in a cyclone of memories today - Greg's pain and mine - flying around and around in a whirlpool of tears - both his and mine - until the beginning and the end are blurred and indefinable.
I've shed more tears than I could measure over Greg's pain - for years. Hurting for Greg is not a new experience. Hurting this deeply - is.
Will the fourth of every month hurt like this (or worse) for the rest of my life? I have a feeling that it will.
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