Most days I do really well. Lately I've felt Brian in my heart, and I see him in me. My thinking is different - I'm able to see things through his eyes, to process things with his wisdom, to try to honor him by living without fear.
Some days, though, life becomes too stressful. The weight of living, working, or meeting responsibilities become to heavy too bear; or someone is cruel; or circumstance is unfair. On those days I might feel overwhelmed, and when I do I turn to look for him, but he is never there. On those days the pain of his death descends upon me like a storm and tears through me like lightening.
Today was one of those days. A day when nothing and no one on earth could bring me comfort. When the sadness and loneliness rise up and choke me, and as I gasp for air, I question "what's the point?"
I would like to think that I was whole before I met Brian. That I was a self-actualized individual - strong, confident and ready to share my life with another. I know that isn't true though. Brian and I were two halves of one magnificent whole. He brought me safety, respect, and unequivocal trust. I brought him laughter, and joy, and the gift of silliness. We brought each other unconditional love - something I hadn't believed in before Brian.
So his death was more than the loss of my husband, lover, best friend, and confidant. His death was the loss of the best in me - the part of me that believed that anything was possible and that good things happen to good people. His death was a reminder that not only is life unfair, it is cruel. His death was proof that I, as an individual, am still incomplete, and needy, and hopelessly in love with a man that I will never again see, hear, or touch.
Most days, I can focus elsewhere. Not on the pain of the loss, but on the amazing gift that Brian and I shared in love. Most days I am now able to feel gratitude. But on those days when I can't, the pain is one hundred fold. The loss is too profound to find comfort anywhere but in Brian's arms.
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