February

It’s funny how grief plays tricks tricks on you.

 

I’ll be moving along; doing the things. I have accepted that this overwhelming pain might hit me when I’m unprepared. I’ve made peace with crying in front of strangers and in public. I’ve learned, almost, how to recognize this new warning voice that comes out of me just before I fall apart. I can talk about him now without having to remind myself to breathe afterwards. And then all at once I catch myself thinking, has it been long enough yet? Is it over yet? Isn’t it time yet for them to explain how this is all has just been a terrible misunderstanding? 

And then a whole new side of this hurt unravels and I’m right back there in October, angry that someone has had the nerve to turn the pages of the calendar. Shocked that we’ve all started saying “he was” instead of “he is”. 

Every calendar I’ve ever owned has been full. All my babies birthdays, all my other babies birthdays, all the anniversaries of important milestones for each and every one of them. I am blessed to have so many dates to remember that I can’t remember them all. My photo albums are filled with their faces and their smiles during every road trip, every party, every random thing that happened when one of us had a camera. My heart is as full scrolling through hundreds of shots of us all together; Billy and Brady studying their army guy villages ; Bella’s pink dress and her Easter basket – full to the rim with eggs because her boys would never had let it not be; Mikey’s school picture the day after John shaved off his eyebrow.. 

And then one will catch me sideways, and I see that one smile of John’s that meant ‘Whaaat? You can’t actually be mad at me for this.. IT’S FUNNY!’ and before I can catch my breath, I think ‘When will he come back? How will we get any more pictures?’ and ‘didn’t he know that we don’t have enough pictures?’. 

It’s February and he’s still gone. It’s still real. I hadn’t accounted for that.