Sunday, January 25, 2015

10 years ago, my husband was killed at his job. 

According to government investigations, machinery failed, gas leaked, and there was an explosion. Outside of some small forensic curiosity, I never much cared for the details. My husband, my best friend, my daughter's father was gone. Who cares HOW it happened?

There are no words to properly describe the hole in my life in those days following his death. How do you explain the feeling of having someone snatched away, so immediately, so permanently? To this day, I feel breathless at the enormity of it. How do you move on from 8+ years of constant contact, conversations, and intimacy to a complete and utter feeling of desolate aloneness?

I've written frequently about Pablo and loss and how we should value what we have in the now. So I just have one thing to say now: I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts. And when I think that I'll never see him again, it hurts all over again. You think the more time goes on, the easier it gets. And in a way it does. But in a way, it get even harder. Because time doesn't heal all wounds. It just makes sure you grow accustomed to it.