No one knows. And no one sees. No one knows the depth of my ache. Sees the pain. Sees the grief.

No one knows death’s grip on me. Loss’s toll on me. The sorrow . The sadness. The intensity of my longing to just hold you again.  To see you once more.

It is so much so, that I want to break your grave open. I need proof. I need to see that you were real. That you did in fact live. That your existence is not of my imagining.

I sit here, staring at your picture on my home screen, attempting to rediscover every feature of your face. Your hands. Your hair. And then it vanishes.  The screen goes to black, and my reflection appears until I bring you back again. It’s just like life. You are unseen. And I see me. Sad. Aging. Heartbroken.

Last night, as I lay in bed, I begged you. I begged you to remind me of what it felt like to have you within me. Your presence. Your body. Your life. Inside of mine.

Why are we apart?  Why are we separated?  The wound is bleeding out.

No one knows. Or do they just not see it?  I wear my pain like a blanket. It covers me. I’m concealed within. I am hidden.

The dark nights. The rain. The cold air. All odds are against me.

The holidays are coming. How can they already be here?

It will be 18 months on Thanksgiving Day. 18 long and short, painful and beautiful, empty and filled months without you.

No one sees it.

Life moves forward.

Celebrations will be had. Laughter. Joy. Family gatherings. Even your little brother is a cause for that.

But you are not here, and I need you here physically. So much to the point that I would trade my breath for it.

I am so alone. So unbelievably lonely, living an invisible life.

Emma JamesComment