Today I woke, seven days after the call, thinking how strange time is. Seven days, a week. But no two weeks feel the same – some painfully long, others speed by, and again more have some of each. This has been the first of those.
This week of your death has been so exhaustingly long. Minutes, hours, days and wakeful nights creep by. Hardly any of them going unnoticed. Some sleepless hours at night when thoughts take me to strange places. Over this long week emotions running high interspersed with an overwhelming numbness.
Family tensions bubble up now and then as all try to deal with this time as best we can and now and then styles clash. Good intentions misunderstood. But mostly there is caring and a deep sense of shared loss that pulls us closer.
This next long week ahead ends in your funeral. A goodbye. A blessing for your life to be read. Stories told of happier days. Condolences received.
Just two weeks ago you held my hand tight. If I close my eyes now I can feel that still. Your smile on my arrival. The feel of your kiss on my cheek. The smell of your perfume still lingers. Watching you sleep. Precious memory.