I’ve had a couple of kinds of shock.  The first happened when the initial trauma happened and I switched into a sort of robot mode.  The second took over from there.  It insulated me from the reality of what was happening.  I wasn’t knee deep in the trauma anymore, but nothing felt real.  It still doesn’t, most of the time.  But that is wearing off.

Right now, in my brain, I know that she’s gone.  But in my heart, I feel like I just haven’t talked with her in a long time.  Like she’s away and I’m just waiting for the phone call that will catch us up on all things going on.

I think I’ve mentioned this before… have I mentioned this?  My thoughts get lost in my fog.

I still have to catch my breath a couple of times a day.  The reality pierces the insulation around my heart and it’s a jolt.  That fades and I slowly ease myself back into the comfort of the shock.  I’m holding onto it.  I can feel it wearing off.

I can’t remember, really, when  the shock of my late husband’s death subsided.  Probably much more quickly than this will, but that was in a different life, a different place.  Then, I was unemployed and I had parked my family in my parent’s basement until I found a job.  I didn’t have the luxury of a slow heal.  I had a small family that needed me to do the parent things.

I don’t remember clearly, but I do remember feeling really gross (?) when I went on the first romantic (?) date after he passed – about a year and a half later.  It was like I was cheating… betraying the spirit of our marriage.

Now it’s still unreal, and the sinking truth happens more often.  Which means I’m a little quicker to bite since the grasp on my illusion of her just *being away* is slipping away.  Wearing off.

I want to grab into the night, to pull her back, pull her back into life.  Even still, I want to grab hold of this cushion of belief and hold that for comfort.  Comfortable lies I tell myself… she’ll be back… she’s just gone right now… I’ll talk to her tomorrow.  Comfortable lies.

Living in shock.  0 stars.  Would not recommend.

One thought on “Shock

  1. Debbie Posey October 16, 2017 / 10201710America/Detroit

    I am in a fog… doesn’t seem real. Sometimes I feel so alone, but reading this tells me we have this in common. A mommas sad heart.


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