Nights are one of those hurdles. Sleep is ever elusive. I close my eyes and all I see are memories from that day. Thoughts of Michael lying there with no sparkle in his eyes. The looks of the faces of those trying to comfort us. Replaying the call from the school. All of those little details that make up that terrible, horrible day. My mind won't stop. I can't still my thoughts. And so I stay up until I can't keep my eyes open for another minute.
Mornings. I wake up with the promise of a new day and instantly remember. And each time, the realization still shakes me to my core. I have gone back to work. And every time I walk in my office, I cry. I sit in front of my computer screen and wonder what it is I am supposed to be doing. And then I pack up for the day, only to repeat the same pattern the next day.
As I have mentioned before, the time of 2:42 pm is hard. As is 11:46 am now. Thursdays are another hurdle. Friday nights are troubling. Weekends no longer have the same joyousness. Who wants to sit for two days in a quiet house? Without plans for new adventures? The start of a new week holds no hope. Tuesday afternoons haunt me. Wednesday nights were always big homework nights. Now, I don't know what to do on those nights.
There is no day, no moment that is untouched with my profound sorrow. I hurt. Deeply. It is a struggle to acclimate to this new world without my Michael. I don't want to. I have no desire to move on. Or find a new normal. I want what I had.
Not to brace myself, steel myself for these everyday moments.