Struggling

This week has been a struggle in every sense of the word: mentally, physically, emotionally.

I feel like my brain has very little room left to store anything. I’ve forgotten to give the dogs their medication. I can’t think of simple words. I can’t remember what I’ve done this month. Someone can ask me something, and I know I know the answer, but I can’t find it.

My brain feels broken, along with my already broken heart.

My world, my life as I knew it, has been broken into pieces. I know it will never be full in the way it was before.

August has sped past me so quickly that if I blink, I feel like I’ll miss it.

But there are things my brain doesn’t forget.

The smell of your clothes in the garage.

That smell creates a deeper ache inside my chest, one that makes it hard to take a full breath because I know you were supposed to be in San Diego.

You should be unpacking your new apartment. You should be starting school. I can picture the FaceTime calls already—watching you show us what you bought, telling us about your apartment, showing us your decorations.

Instead, I ache for your voice.

Your laugh.

Your simple:

“Heyyyyy.”

Followed by:

“Whatcha doin?”

I would give anything to hear it again.

I wish I had a time machine.

I wish I had checked your location that Thursday night.

But I didn’t.

My brain was consumed with the tragedy happening in our own neighborhood, and I didn’t check.

I didn’t know we were running out of time.

I didn’t know Wednesday, May 27, would be our last communication.

That’s the cruelty of grief.

You don’t know when the last time is the last time.

The last conversation.

The last text.

The last “Heyyyyy.”

The last “Whatcha doin?”

I took time for granted—not because I didn’t value it, but because I believed there would be more.

And now I would give every limb of my body to have one more ordinary moment with you.

One more conversation.

One more hug.

One more “Heyyyyy.”

One more “Whatcha doin?”

One more moment I didn’t know was going to be the last.

I can’t go back.

But my heart keeps trying.

So this week, I’m tired.

My brain is tired.

My body is tired.

My heart is exhausted from carrying a loss it still cannot comprehend.

And maybe for now, all I can do is carry it.

One breath at a time.

One memory at a time.

Because I can’t bring you back.

But I can keep loving you.

And I will.

For the rest of my life.