Gone
Tuesday afternoon.
"I love you."
"I love you, too." I could feel his hand shake as he lifted it to my cheek. "It will be OK," he said, and I knew it was true but I couldn't get my voice to work properly, so I just made a croaking noise.
"I have to go."
"I know."
And he walked forward, handing his boarding pass to the lady at the gate. (He was the last to board.)
As I sobbed uncontrollably, one of the gate attendants approached me to ask if I was a passenger on the flight to Tokyo Narita. "No, my husband is," I managed between sobs. I watched (and cried) until the plane rolled out of sight.
Fast forward 24 hours and I alternate between stabbing pain and a dull emptiness where nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing matters except that he's gone and I miss him and I want him back.
"I love you."
"I love you, too." I could feel his hand shake as he lifted it to my cheek. "It will be OK," he said, and I knew it was true but I couldn't get my voice to work properly, so I just made a croaking noise.
"I have to go."
"I know."
And he walked forward, handing his boarding pass to the lady at the gate. (He was the last to board.)
As I sobbed uncontrollably, one of the gate attendants approached me to ask if I was a passenger on the flight to Tokyo Narita. "No, my husband is," I managed between sobs. I watched (and cried) until the plane rolled out of sight.
Fast forward 24 hours and I alternate between stabbing pain and a dull emptiness where nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing matters except that he's gone and I miss him and I want him back.
Comments
There is not much one can say to make you feel better. I am afraid I know it too well.
But in times like this, there is this passage of Joy and Sorrow, in The Prophet, by Kibran, that soothes my soul just for the reality of it.
I paste it here and hope you will smile inbetween your tears thinking of all the joy and the hapiness of loving someone THAT much to be able and feel so deeply.
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
Sarah x
Keep busy (like with that mirror) and be with people if you can stand it. We're all thinking of you.