There’s no more grief. I think
Asher passed a little less than six weeks ago.
I can still remember the feel of his back as he lied there in the bed.
I don’t get nearly as emotional when I am thinking about him.
I miss him every day.
We’ve been playing a new Minecraft Mod for our Sunday activities. He used to love that. Now he’s not there to participate, and I miss him some more.
But it’s not grief anymore. I think I’ve managed to come to terms with his passing. I’ve managed to make myself okay. It’s a bit of mental jiggery. You see… If I accept he’s okay and all the gospel is true, then I can sleep. If I choose to deny the existence or think that he’s just gone… I die.
So he’s okay. Because nothing else is acceptable.
And the grief goes away.
But the trauma stays.
The gasping for breath.
The feel of his back.
The doctor tells me I have Major Depressive Disorder AND Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Two for the price of one. I’ve started meds.
They tell me it’ll be okay.
And most days it is.
But not today.
Today it’s hard.
Today… there is only trauma.