Three years

It is the third, not the first not the second, the third year without you. Like a middle child, a limbo of sorts. Not the magical "five years" that everyone talks about as the real "it takes that long to finally heal" milestone. Around five years  "I got my life back in order" - "I fell in love and moved on"- "I cried over everything until about the five year mark". Fuck off to that is what I say A) because I don't believe it B) because grief doesn't follow a timeline. So today it's just three. And it's shitty. As shitty and unimportant as a middle child feels sometimes. I don't want to count down the days and mark another anniversary. But I will because you are worth it. I don't want to be reminded that I am only three years into this grief journey; that I am not "there" yet  whatever the fuck "there" is. And I don't want to be reminded of the day you died. I am sick to death of death and your death and remembering it and feeling it and living with it and dealing with it day in and day out for three years now. I am hostage to these thoughts. I can't buy into the whole psychological bullshit of "just think happy thoughts and you will be happy"  "focus on the life he lived not his death"  I CAN'T  -  no matter how hard I try. I am just not there and I feel society's pressure that I am not there, that I have somehow failed grieving.

Sit with me where I am today.

And today where I am at is - I want to run away. I want to forgot that it happened on April 3rd, forget that you breathed your last breath in my arms and that a huge part of who I am went away with you that day and is not coming back.

I want to have this over with, I am angry -  angry that you're gone, that I am left with marking your passing with a date that only means the day you left his earth. It's every other day in between that means something, my reality is when the torture visits 5pm on a Tuesday in mid Feb. This day is just another years passage of it all. This day marks your death, my death, our death, my torture, another of these godless death anniversaries and a reminder of the hold this month day and year has on me. I want you back. I hate it here without you, I really do. Who knew it'd be so desolate, so lonely and empty? Not me. I thought I would heal within a few months. Oh the naivete the stupidity the irony. Sussey you have only just begun, you are only three years in. You have a whole life ahead of missing him, if you live long enough. Maybe at the rate you're going that will be shortened, your poor liver. I know how sad and disappointed in me you would be, how I am not doing well in your absence, how I am not living the life you would have wished for me after you left, how I am not living up to your legacy, how I have failed once again. FUCK. How is that for some self pity?

I mark this three years with wailing and teeth gnashing, with heels dragging, with tantrums in waiting. I heard some kids yelling and crying and screaming in the grocery store yesterday. I wanted to do the same. At the checkout with the cashier - just start screaming at her and at everybody in line, I would answer her offhand "hi, how are you today"? with "my husband is dead, (no it would be screamed) MY HUSBAND IS DEAD!!!!! I hate being left here, I WANT TO GO TOO,  fucking life IS SO UNFAIR AND I HATE IT  and this is how miserable death of a loved one is". When she was still trying to recover from my onslaught I would dramatically fall to the floor and kick my feet and pound my fists and scream and scream and scream. That is how I really want to mark this three years, that is the real honesty of how I feel three years in. But I am a adult not a kid, it's not acceptable. I said "I'm fine" and I took my groceries quietly and walked out to my car and kept my grief on the inside where it hides and went on with my day, married to my third year without you.

Today I went to work, I will not do that again, it was a horrible place to be when you are reliving a bad day. I could barely walk home, so drained, so tired, so depleted I had to lay down on our bed with Pax and nap in order to go on. I did go on though, I ate a lovely supper made by Melanie, I received a gift of flowers from my friend. I visited your grave, I took a picture. I survived it.  I remain in a state of limbo, of flux, of hibernation  and part of me in waiting for the perfect  five year mark they all talk about. But I know that is as much a lie as healing within a few months is. Three years today and the only thing that is true and meaningful is I am still without you, that I am still alive.