Saturday, November 30, 2013
Thanksgiving used to be my favorite. I loved making all the dishes, even in my smallest kitchen, where I had to keep moving things around because I would run out of counter space. He always came home for Thanksgiving. I don't remember one without him. It would just be the three of us and he would keep eating throughout the day. I would have the turkey ready for lunch, then in the afternoon we would go out for a walk or a movie, then eat some more. I can't have Thanksgiving anymore. I won't say there is nothing to be thankful for anymore. Things could always get worse. I'm sure they will get worse. There is no way they will get better. But I am grateful for the past. I will always be grateful for him. But bearing with it is wearing me down. Today I can't have a moment without thinking of his absence and how no matter what else happens, it will always be thus - he will never be here. And no matter if my life is no different from before - after all it was only a few times a year that I saw him, and as much as I try to live in the moment and not go over the past or think of the future, I always come back to this immutable fact - he doesn't exist anymore. And it always surprises me with its finality. Other things can change, but this can never change. My life is somehow dreamlike and this is the recurring motif - I wake up to this realization many times a day. I still haven't internalized it. And the pain has returned at night, but at a lower intensity - it comes in waves, repetitively, rhythmically. But the pain is a crutch. I welcome it. It is much worse, when I am awake and I can't even cry - I can never cry, because it will be endless. He will never not have died.