"It hurts just as much as its worth."Two years came and went on Monday. I was bracing myself for the pain on Sunday night, when my husband casually asked me "So, who dies tonight?" I froze before I realized he was talking about the TV show we were about to watch with anticipation. But that was a defining moment. We grieve alone.
I did have a bad night then and the next one, but the cutting pain just wasn't there. The quote above is from Julian Barnes. In his memoir about the death of his wife (which I haven't read yet) he speaks of the well-meant and misguided consolations people would give him. One of them struck me: "two years, they say." He, like me, scoffed at such measures. And yet my body tells me differently. Maybe there is a biological limit to how much you can hurt. If it doesn't kill you...
So where does this leave me? Is that all it was worth? Two years' worth? Has the pain evolved into something else? Or has a part of me died?
"And lead me to some slender rest
And please dismiss what I confess" ~ Two Gallants