A broken heart in 2023

I didn’t know it was possible to literally break your heart, but it is. In times of intense trauma & loss, your heart can actually break and mimic a heart attack. Untreated, you can die of a broken heart.

Isn’t that ironic?

I cleaned our room today. I hadn’t so much as picked laundry off the floor since you died. I haven’t washed your laundry, and I don’t plan to any time soon. I sleep with the last sweatshirt you wore, balled up against my chest. But I did my own laundry, and changed the bedding .. except your pillow cases, I’ll keep those on a while yet, and pretend I can still catch your scent on them.

I put an oil diffuser in our room. Emily had one in her spare room for me and I think it helped me sleep. I’ve been sleeping 2 or 3 hours a night, if I’m lucky, since being home so maybe the diffuser will help here.

I want to sleep. So badly. All I want to do is sleep but I can’t. I don’t know if my head or my heart or my body won’t let me, but the sweet relief of unconsciousness rarely comes.

I showered and put your cologne on. Then I cried again. I’ve never felt to utterly alone in my life. Even before we moved in together you were always there. A hundred times a day I reach to text you, send you a meme, show you something neat I took a photo of. I call your phone just to hear your voice on your voice mail.

It’s been four weeks today. It sounds like such a very long time without you, but its all still so fresh and painful and raw that it feels like yesterday.

I’m so scared I will forget the way you felt. The scritch of your beard. The roughness of the palms of your hands from working so hard all your life. The softness of your lips on my neck. The sound of your voice. The way your laugh rumbled in my chest. The way my heart skipped a beat when you looked at me. I don’t want to forget.

It’s just not real. This can’t be my life now. It can’t be.