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Going outside...

 

Arslan gave up so much to save me. His childhood, his identity. The world demands a sacrifice. In order to win this life, you must lose that which you love.

I sat with her as her life was leaving her body. Her arms kept jumping. I read it's from the morphine. I also read it's from the nervous system shutting down. I held her hand. I sat and asked myself if this could be real. The protectors came up, helped me walk out of the nursing home.

When I walked out, it felt like the longest hallway I had ever seen. Like if I kept walking it would take me to the other side of the earth. The person who kept me steady is gone.

What is hardest now is going outside. Grief lives out there. When I stay inside, she can't get to me as easy. She means no harm. She is the price. The price of love.

After the hallway, the hollow came. The place in my chest that continued to reach for her, for something to tell me it would be okay. But, if we are being honest, what does "okay" look like? Is it a smile? Is it being wasted? Is it prayer? Is it a "knowing"? Is it old age? Where, in all         of this big wide world, does this pain go so that it does not get swallowed with me, in the hollow.

And still, in the light, I can see again. My son's face. My husband's love. The grace from my sister. My mom's strength. I can see hope, but she knows I am not ready to sit with her. Because currently, I have a date with grief, every day. Maybe for eternity.


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