People ask me how I am. People who love me, people who care.
I just shrug now.
His best friend says “I hope you’re well,” and out of mercy I ignore the implied question entirely in my response, because I’m not, and he’s really hoping I am, and I hate to disappoint him. He’s a nice man.
Because I know I can’t tell the truth.
After 9 weeks, better news is expected.
I can’t say I’m the same.
I can’t say that I tear up and my voice breaks just about every time I mention him, even when the story is funny and wonderful, the memory happy.
I can’t say I just spent the last hour crying so hard I started coughing and choking. And that I do this pretty much every couple of days.
I can’t say that on the days in between I still cry, just less hard, but usually more often.
I can’t say that my chest has hurt for the last 3 days, and I think I broke a rib crying and coughing. Either that or my heart actually did break.
I can’t say that despite moments of laughter and hours of apparent normalcy, the hurt and loss completely overwhelm me regularly and that I have never cried so much or so hard in my entire life as I have in the last 9 weeks…and counting.
I just shrug now. It’s easier.
For all of us.