Mr. Glitter, the complicated love of my life, died 2 weeks ago. Whenever I close my eyes I see his face, his blood, his bed left undone, the casket being loaded on the plane, his lifeless body, the casket being closed, the flag being folded, the life we will never get to live together, his life cut short way too soon. Some say me still being sad is selfish. Some say this is a time to celebrate. Some say remember the love. Some say be strong. Some say he wouldn’t want me to be sad.
I say this sucks. It hurts. I’m crushed. I’m tired of being strong. I’ve done what others couldn’t do. I don’t have peace. I don’t have a physical piece of both of us walking around to remind me of him. I don’t have 37 or 16 or even 10 years of memories to sustain me. I don’t have joy. I don’t have hope. What I do have is a crippling ache. A desire to sleep and never wake up again. I have endless tears and sleepless nights. I have nightmares. I have bad decisions made in times of abject grief. I have meds left abandoned. I have fog and darkness. There’s nothing anyone can say or do to make this better.
I can’t do this without him. We just made things right again. I just got him back. We were supposed to grow old together. We still had traveling to do. We still had secrets to share and arguments and jokes and so much more. I want him back! And if I can’t have that, then what’s the point?