During her illness, A. and I were grieving. The lives we had once known were gone, and nothing would ever be the same. And in that, is grief. But the grief one experiences when they lose someone so close is more volatile, and the dynamic range is expanded. In the final weeks of her life, I would frequently visit the bathroom mirror. I’d look at myself when everything got too loud and say, This cannot destroy you. The words were like an anchor, a reminder that the experience may leave you broken and beaten, but it can’t destroy you. I don’t think I believe that anymore.
Yesterday was three months since she died. I also closed the sale on the condo we bought 16 months ago. Life is sometimes strange that way.