My life has become a movie: Groundhog Day.
Every morning I wake up and realize you’re gone all over again.
I drive in my car on the way home from work, looking forward to seeing you when I get there – oh wait, Rick is dead. I knew, but I forgot.
I walk into my house and suddenly realize the silence. Oh wait, Rick is dead. But I knew that, didn’t I?
I’m losing my marbles.
Wait, isn’t he in bed waiting for me, as I watch late night TV? Won’t I find him there, waiting to pull me into his arms? No, silly, he’s dead. He’s gone. He’s never coming back.
I knew that. Didn’t I?
One month, nearly a month you’ve been gone. And daily, sometimes hourly, I need to remind myself that you aren’t coming back. And the pain is unleashed anew – fresh, raw, pain, as fresh as the moment of your death – all over again.
Just like in Groundhog Day, I’m doomed to repeat the reality of your death, the fresh waves of grief.
Look, there’s a new sequel to your favorite book series coming out today. Rick will love this, I think. I should call him, I think. But wait, Rick’s dead. But I knew that, didn’t I?
Over and over and over. I’m reminded that I’ll never see you or touch you again. Over and over, I’m hit with a fresh wave of agony, tears and pain. Over and over I see you in my thoughts, I hear you in my dreams, I feel you next to me.
And remember it’s not true. You’re dead. You’re not coming back.
I knew that. Didn’t I?
