It’s been seven weeks. The shock is starting to wear off a little bit that Bryan is gone. I can tell because I’m starting to think more about the time we were in the hospital. Little snippets pop in my mind and I start to feel a bit panicked.
It’s similar to how I imagine someone would feel if they were caught in quicksand. It’s that closed-up, tight feeling of not being able to get enough oxygen in your lungs and you can feel the fear that is rising up like bile in your throat. Once that feeling hits, I slam the door to that offending memory.
I’m not ready to go back to those dark days of sitting and waiting for the doctors to come in, the nurses to come in, and the countless others who walked in and out of our room. We spent our days in a hospital-induced trance. I was never able to concentrate for very long on anything, not even a simple crochet project. I sometimes get angry at the fact those were the last memories we had together. We weren’t finished with life. His 52nd birthday is tomorrow. We were supposed to be celebrating that. Then I feel selfish. At least we were together, I tell myself. That’s the cycle of emotions one goes through.
So it goes.
Because I could not stop for Death (479)
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –
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