How has this even happened? It was just a moment ago wasn’t it? The silence is deafening to me, yet the world is so loud. Loud and cluttered. It is like I’m here, but another version of me. I guess I can’t ever expect to feel right. Not when a massive piece of my heart is not here with me. The distance between you and me baby seems overwhelming, I count down. I count down every day. I let myself wonder what heaven is like, I only have one setting in me head, it’s a little river, the flow is not fast but I can hear it loudly. You are sitting on the rock next to it, you are smiling. I’m not sure where I am? is this a vision or am I there with you? Does it seem so real because I am just right there, able to reach out to you if I tried? Maybe I am there, maybe a bit of me is there with you darling, is that why this vision is so strong and repetitive? Is it a vision I’ve created or is it something you have sent me, to make me feel at ease when I think about you and where you are. I wish I had just been able to close my eyes with you, I wish I could have carried you there, I wish we were greeted together. I wasn’t ready for you to leave baby. I know I asked him to come and get you. I know I asked him to let me have one more night, to come, but not that night. He listened, or else you heard. Either way, I wasn’t ready, but maybe you were darling.
First blog – This is daunting, exposing, real. Do I regret this before I’ve started? I have put this off for almost four years, but the desire to write has become overwhelming. A response to feeling like no one is listening? a fear nobody cares anymore? a desire to share my thoughts as true and unfiltered I as experience them in head? These lead in sentences are helping, it’s feeling good….. sad, incredibly sad, but “good” sad. There is such a thing I’ve learnt. It takes a lot to give in, sometimes it the “good” sort, other times it the type where my heart feels like its actually going to explode under the weight of an unmeasurable longing for Chace. So this blog will be me closing my eyes and accepting that some entries will be “good” sad, therapeutic and helpful. Other times it won’t be. It’s kind of like the tears I hold in will escape through my fingers and transform my hurt into something I can see. A tangible expression of my love for Chace. These will be the scapes of my grief.