Two weeks

Two weeks. Almost as long as we lived together. Two weeks I’ve been alone. One week I’ve lived alone. I still am rolling over reaching for you, waking up from a dream and thinking you’re there with me. The other morning I swear I felt you there with me laughing at me as I made myself a mug of chai, remembering back when you first showed me how because I had no idea what the hell ‘steeping’ tea bags meant.

Two weeks without you around. My phone has been so horribly silent. I’ve wanted to call your phone. Talk to you, hear your voice. Make you groan at some cheesy line I tell you. Anything. I’ve worked over 80 hours in the last two weeks, and those shifts just seemed to get longer and longer without your wonderful texts to keep my company, telling you all about the stupid calls I run.

You would have been so happy for me that first week. That baby I delivered? The one we didn’t want to know what happened after we dropping him off at the hospital with a pulse? Yea that one. He’s doing amazing. The NICU nurses at Big Hospital absolutely love him. They even call him Baby ‘My service name here’. I actually got to see him on a transport to that hospital. You loved it when I had calls like that. So much that you kept suggesting that I should become an L&D nurse eventually. And to be honest it’s still tempting. It’s kind of fitting that the week I lost you, I helped bring a life into this world, and keep him here. I’ll always remember that call and think of you every time.

People keep telling me that with time things will get better… so far in the two weeks, things have seemed to just get worse. Once all the numbness of losing you wore off, the hurt hit me like a ton of bricks. Just getting out of bed and getting ready, by myself, to face the day hurts so much and is so horribly hard. I would do anything to see you again, talk to you again, hug you again, kiss you again. Coming home to an empty apartment has been the hardest though. When I’ve been on duty at Cross, I just haven’t wanted to come home. I couldn’t stand coming home to an empty place.

I’m trying I really am. The thought of joining you has been tempting on and off over the past few weeks… And I decided a couple days ago that I really do need to go talk to someone. I know it’s something you would have kicked my ass into doing by now, but I’m a little slow without you apparently.

What people told me I think was right about some things though. When I see you in my dreams, when I feel you there next to me when I sleep, when I feel you near me when I’m getting into uniform, those are times you’re with me, watching over me, protecting me. Keep it up my love. I know I’ll need it more over the next couple weeks, but knowing you’re still with me in my heart, in my soul, and in my mind gives me a little strength.  Your mother calls you her angel, and that’s true. Sweetheart, you were always an angel here on earth, and now you’re our angel watching over all of us that you loved. And I couldn’t think of a person I’d want watching over me more. I love you sweetheart.

The following are lyrics of a song I found on my computer. I think they’re fitting for how I’m feeling.

“I’m thankful for the time God gave me, even though we couldn’t make it last.
I’m learning how to live without you, even though I don’t want to.
And even with you gone, love lives on.

 

  • Fox NotShocked

    I’ve been reading these since you lost her.  This one made me more than sad.  It made me cry.
    I hope you will go talk to someone.  I’m sure you’re right in saying she’d have wanted you to try to get through this.
    You’re in my thoughts and prayers.

  • jess

    Man, I certainly do not have words to express to give you solace.  A few years ago I had a subarachnoid hemorrhage and was pretty close to dying.  My spouse had to make all the decisions and to this day cannot talk about what she went through.  I cried when I read your post.  What you are writing are things that went through her head.  The song that she heard when she got in her car was a Christine Agulerra (sp?) song called Hurt. Neither of us can hear it without crying. So, I can’t take away your pain, but we can feel a little of what you are going thru. I was blessed with memory loss for most of the following year and events around the stroke. I did go on to regain everything except that time period and went on to go back to work as a paramedic.
    You know those calls you go on and all the person needs is a hand to hold  or a simple hand on the shoulder?  I call that PFA, used it on my run forms for years and no one asked what it was.  Psychological First Aid.  My hand is on your shoulder.