I’m at home. Alone. On my own computer, albeit with a new pink keyboard.
This is scaring the shit out of me.
But I can do it.
Those of you who have reading since the Before know how much I adored The Man. Search the tag, if you like. He was my best mate, my rock. The person who knew me best in the entire world.
My soul mate.
But I am so pissed at him right now.
I wonder if he knows, what he’s left behind here.
I wonder if he knows that his children, our children, are being primarily cared for by their grandmother right now. Because I can’t. I can barely take care of myself, let alone two tiny people.
I wonder if he saw how much it hurt me when my daughter turned to mother, instead of me.
I wonder if he knows that it’s been two weeks and I still have to remind myself to shower, to eat. And my mind still tricks me into thinking he’s here, that I can go home to him and escape all this mess and stress at any time.
Who’s going to take care of me now? I guess I’ll be taking care of myself.
I wonder if he knows it took me two weeks to even be able to drive again. And the first time I did that I reversed into someone’s car.
I wonder if he knows that his best mate sat by his hospital bed for hours, days. That I will have to attend his best friend’s wedding alone, next month, were Tony should have been best man.
I wonder if he knows what his son is missing, playing with his daddy. Hanging out with his best friend.
I wonder if he can see the awful mess he’s left behind. His mother, weeping. His sister, lost without her baby bro who always took such care of her.
Fuck. What are we supposed to do, without you? There’s a great big fucking hole in the world, and I can’t fill it with anything.
This is fucked. I miss you, don’t you get that? I’d give anything, anything, for one more second. Just so you can tell me you love me, and this isn’t my fault. That I’m not so bad I can drive my husband to suicide. That I’m not so fucked up, that you hated me enough to do this to me, and to do it in front of me, in the very same place I gave birth to our daughter? In our beautiful, peaceful backyard courtyard, with the purple that I loved but I now can’t even look at?
Do you have any idea of the trauma you’ve left me with? Forget the grieving, the fucking trauma is nearly breaking me. Loud noises. Sirens. Flashbacks. Blue shirt, orange rope, ads on the TV that show CPR, people casually mentioning, in conversation, an adrenalin shot to the heart. All those things fuck with me, wind me up, make me fragile, on edge, like a cat about to spring off it’s toes.
Fuck you. You see what you’ve done? You see what you’ve left behind?
As much as I love you, Tony, I fucking hate you right now. For doing this to me, to all of us. For leaving such a huge fucking hole, that nothing will ever be able to fill. The only hope is, life will get bigger, and that hole will feel smaller, as time goes on.
Two weeks. Fuck. Buckle up, the ride does not stop here.