Prompt #15

I didn’t think it would be this hard and yet, I did. I did think so.
I felt afraid of diving in deep and putting all of it into words. I felt (and still feel) terrified, actually, of the writing and all the emotions it stirs. Coming to the page every day has been excrutiating. But I know I’m not alone in this, and there’s comfort in that.
I didn’t know I would cry every time I write.
I didn’t know I would cry every time I edit.
I didn’t know I would cry every time I read of someone else’s grief.
Every time.
I cried very little when Abi was living (and dying) with cancer.She had so much hope and I hung onto her hope as if my life depended on it, because it did.
I didn’t want her to see me crying because she wanted her life to be about, well, life, not death. Of course there were tears, but nothing like this. Not even close.
I didn’t know, for a long time, that she would die.
I didn’t know, for sure until the day before she died. That horrible day!
I didn’t know that she wouldn’t rally one more time, like she’d done so many times before.
I didn’t know.

I didn’t know there would be so many losses along the way, so many “little funerals” as she got more and more ill.
I didn’t know how much those losses were wearing me/ us down. Two and a half years of loss.

I didn’t know that pictures of her would become both a blessing and a curse.
I didn’t know that memories would too.
I didn’t know I would dream her brother was dead.
I didn’t know I would be so afraid of so much.

So much I didn’t know.

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