The last of the family & friends have gone home. And now I’m all that’s left in this house.

My brother & his girlfriend left on Saturday. The blow was lessened by friends in town from overseas (so, incredibly nice of her to make the trip) and from SF. But now, they’ve gone back to their lives as well.

This is the moment I’ve been dreading. I’m walking on egg shells around myself. I feel that if I let myself go & cry that I won’t stop. There will be no one here to stop me. So, I’m fighting it. I know I need to cry, but I can’t at this moment. I don’t feel strong enough. I can let my eyes well up, but then I have to turn it off before it goes any further.

On the drive home from the airport, I kept thinking about the things I’d tell her when I got home. How easily I forgot. I consciously had to remind myself over & over that she wouldn’t be here when I got home. Yes, I can still tell her everything, but she won’t be here. It’s not the same.

I hate that there is no end in sight. But at the same time, I can’t imagine being comfortable in a moment where this loss doesn’t kill. I know there will come a time when it won’t feel so overwhelming, but I have to admit, I hate the idea of hoping for such a moment.

This is where it gets hard. The last three weeks have been hell, but this I fear, I know, will be even worse. This is when the reality sets in that I don’t get to come home at the end of the day & tell her about it with her standing across from me at the kitchen counter. This is when the reality sets in of all the future moments she won’t be here for. God this kills. I hate this.

Image: Sol Lang via flickr

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