I saw her face and I didn’t mean to. I wanted to sign the log book. I wanted to paint a rock. I wanted to sit and cry at the extremely unfortunate loss of her.
But I didn’t anticipate there wouldn’t be a way to not see her, lying there, dead.
Then, I needed my mom.
Then, I needed my Wolfpack.
But one part is gone forever and the other is also grieving and from that moment, eyes on her face, tears streaming down mine, I felt sickeningly alone.
It’s burned in my memory, stuck, unable to process; her face and my unrelenting little-me tears, and the mundane chatter and feeling like the only one in a room while heartache that felt like fire seeped from ever pore on my body.
I don’t really matter in all of this. There are so many people that loved her and miss her and so many grateful clients. Yet I’ve lost a connection that is devastating to me. A part of her was holding me up, like I was just borrowing her strength and wisdom until I fully embraced my own, and it’s gone now.
It’s so selfish but I’m so angry. Angry that I’ve lost a major part of my daily life. Angry my support system is 1/2 gone. Angry one of only a handful of my coveted, authentic, safe, loving & trusting connections is deceased. Angry that I feel so shattered, emotional, fragile, and grief-stricken and I can’t run to my mom.
This feels like the inescapable, undeniably horrendous depression from the first half of 2020. I don’t understand the purpose of life when things can be this painful for absolutely no fucking reason. Everything seems completely pointless. Especially, feeling this much pain.