People ask…How are you doing?
I answer…Fine? Okay? Hanging in there?
How much do they want to know? Do they really want to know?
How much do I want to tell them? Do I really want to tell them?
Do they want to know that I just saw a recipe for shrimp tacos that Niels would have loved and I would have made for him…but never will be able to make for him? So I cried…
Do they want to know that I saw that man walking down the street – he had a bun and a beard and walked just like him and I took a quick breath thinking…maybe…and then I cried?
Do they want to know that I woke up from a dream where he was walking down the street with Glen and I waved…only to see them walk on…so I cried?
Do they want to know that as Blair and I ate our traditional St. Patrick’s meal on Sunday all I could think about was how much Niels enjoyed coming over to say hello to our guests and to share a plate full of corned beef and Colcannon…so I cried.
Do they want to know that I have his sweatshirt next to my bed…I can’t wash it because it smells like him and there are times when I reach for it before going to sleep and I cry?
Do they want to know that I cry because he’s just the person I need to talk to when I need advice so I look at his photo, close my eyes and wait for him to guide me…yet he’s not here to help me so I cry.
Do they want to know that my heart aches for his sister when I see her watching a YouTube video that they would have laughed about on Sunday evening…so I cry for her.
Do they want to know that when I talk with his co-workers about how much they miss him I smile to know how much he was loved and then I cry because they miss him, too.
Do they want to know that EVERY damn Star Wars reference makes me smile as I anticipate asking Niels about it when I see him on Sunday…and then I cry.
Do they want to know that when I walk down the hall and pass his photo I pause and send him a kiss and then I cry? Every time.
Grief is personal. It can be shared, but there are unwritten rules and expectations and I’m learning about the boundaries as I go…and sometimes I break them knowingly or unknowingly.
Grief doesn’t end. It is always right there at the edge of everything I see, everything I do, everywhere I go.
I never know what will remind me that my boy is not here. Yesterday it was a key lime tart recipe. Tomorrow it may be the sound of the crack of a baseball bat or a saxophone warming up at the concert.
So…I just wait…sitting on the edge of the seat of life to see where I will see him, where I will hear him, where I will feel him.
Where I will cry for him.
Can We? Will We? 