On Being Strong…Returning Home

So I was home. Not the way I thought it would be. Ever. It would never be home again. Not without Gregger. It would be a house. But never a home. Too much was missing. But again, I had to be strong. Too much ahead of me. Too much to do. People to see. Emotions. Tears. Plans. Could I do it? I had no choice. So I moved. Robotically. One foot in front of the other. I had to go into our bedroom. Our closet. See his clothes. Every shirt, tie, jacket that reminded me of him. A day. A night. A memory. His toothbrush. Standing erect in its holder. He would never use it again. Everything I touched reminded me of his absence. And the fact that he was never coming back.

People came. To pay respects. Platters of food. Flowers. So nice. So grateful. And my role? To tell the story. Again. And again. And again. How did it happen? What did you do? How are you feeling? The questions were overwhelming. But I had to answer. I had to smile. I had to keep standing. And so I did. Strength. Somehow. It was there. You never know where it comes from. But somehow it shows up. Just when you need it most. 

Time to plan. A memorial. Really? Was that word even in my vocabulary? That’s for sick people. Old people. Not for Gregger. Not for us. But this was real. This was happening. And I had to be present. I had to make this beautiful. For him. He deserved it. More than anyone I’d ever known. The support of community, family and friends was overwhelming. I couldn’t have done it without them. I was blessed. Forever grateful. But in the between time people scattered. Went back to their lives. And I was alone.

One night I collapsed. To the ground. On my knees. Sobbing. Endless tears. I went outside. I wailed to the stars. The moon. “Are you out there? Can you hear me?” I uttered those words. I needed to feel him. I never felt as alone as I did at that moment. My sister-in-law called.  I wanted to let it ring. Don’t let her hear my agony. My breakdown. But I answered. Choking tears. And she saved me. She talked me through. Told me it was okay. Break down. Cry. Let it out. So I did. And as we talked, I felt the strength return. Slowly.  I knew at that moment that I would be okay. I just had to learn to ride the waves. 

To be continued…