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.