What happens when...

What happens when it hits hard- this losing and this loss and this lost physicality of him?
What happens when I just can't... I just can't fathom another iota of this grief?
What happens when I am tired? Tired of keeping myself busy enough to beat back the absence of a life I tremendously loved?
What happens when I try to forget? And then I crave to never forget...
What happens when I wake and reach for him still.. still. Oh my heart.
What happens when I'm ready to laugh and smile?
What happens when I'm ready to run into the distant horizon and leave this place that echoes him?
Echoes the life we treasured and built and agonised over?
What happens when I'm empty of everything?
What happens when I don't know how to parent by myself?
What happens?
What happens when I suddenly realise that I'm doing really ok and I just might be ready to take another step without his hand on the small of my back, fingers sweetly entwined with mine?
What happens when I'm ready to unravel myself from the fading future that we will never own?

I know what happens.
Because that's what I've seen and known and felt these last moments and days.
Because that's what I have breathed and sighed.

Here is what happens.

I stop.
I mean, I have no choice but to stop.
And when I say stop, I mean I slam headlong into the stop sign that loomed in my way.
Oh yes... I stop.

So.
I've stopped.
I stopped so suddenly that my world ricocheted with the sudden nature of my stop.
I heard it.
I put my weary head down on the lounge chair- and there I decided to stay.
I just stopped.
I stopped and let the water of chaos and grief and running and being stupidly busy just close over me... for just a moment.

And here's the thing- because there is always a thing.
I could have gladly stayed there.
Under water.
Under the calmness of the stopping.
I could have stayed and just watched the world that I am trying to keep together disintegrate into a gazillion shards.

But I have these people in my life who refuse to let me stay under water.
They blatantly, down right refuse.

They knew that I couldn't move. So they moved me.
They knew I couldn't speak. So they spoke for me.

Listen, I'm not saying that I'm totally, 100% broken.
But right now- I'm a little broken hearted.
I'm not shattered beyond repair- but I am shattered in the most beautiful way.

A lot of people who love me have been watching this happen.
They have been standing sideline and have been cringing as they watched it unfold.
There's no stopping it- this outworking of grief.
There is only a watching and a waiting and a being there- ready with outstretched arms and no platitudes, but with a sigh and a tight-squeeze-the-life-out-of-me- type hug.

I'm ok and I'm tired and I'm facing a new stage of this grief.
Oh grief- you stand like the faceless figure on the shore, ready to collect the payment that is required to step foot in a new place. Grief- The gatekeeper.
And I'm ready to step ashore a new place.
I am.
A place that features me- the Suz that knows how to live days and nights without my mum and my husband.

I sat in my doctors office yesterday- and I told him that I can't sleep.
And I am tired.
And I'm ready to step forward in this life.
Because that's what life demands.
It is what Sheldon demanded of me.

And in my desire to be functional, faith filled and fine- I forgot to be real to what I have been through and what I have seen.

My doctor said, "I'm gonna be a doctor and label you- you are experiencing complicated grief and a bit of post traumatic stress disorder... You need sleep."

Traumatic. Hmmm...

On the 20th April, 2014 at 1:16 am I watched my mum, my best friend and my holder of smiles and memories...go. She left. She ceased to be a physical presence that I could run to and shelter myself in.

On the 5th September, 2015 at 2:23 pm I watched my husband go. He left... He ceased to a physical presence that I could cleave to and find adoration and protection in.

And in those in-between days- I watched him fade away.
A hard fade.

So yeah- I'm tired.
And I'm done being busy to try to fill the echo of empty arms.

And I'm ready to step forward and be Suz without them here.
They would kick my arse if I stayed laying on the lounge chair.
But the lounge chair is good for a while.
Just so I can sleep.
And remember how to breathe again.
And let the loss and the losing and the lost physicality make it's home on my world.
It's a part of me now- this loss. It's not something I want to wear around my neck- but I'm finding out where it fits.

So- if you see my around.
Yes. I know- I look tired. I am.
And yes- I'm broken hearted and beautifully being heart mended all at the same time.
I'm sleeping- finally.
And I'm laughing sometimes and crying at others.
I'm taking some time to stop.
Just stop.
And breathe.
And listen to great music and watch fantastic sunsets and meet new faces.
And I'm working out this only parent deal.
And I'm ok.

But if you see me- just hug the life out of me. And breathe some of your life in to me.
And smile deeply into my tired, weary, ready to step forward eyes and just say nothing.
Just hug and smile.