Right foot, left foot
This week I had to clean out his apartment. I’ve imagined this for months. We dreamt of it together. We couldn’t wait for the day we finally got to live together. We would talk about what furniture we’d keep, what we’d give away, where his office space would be, how we’d arrange it to make it ours, how we would POSSIBLY fit both of our clothes and shoe collections in one house. We knew it was coming. We couldn’t wait.
Instead, I packed up his belongings to put in storage while he is buried in the ground. I went through his closet and kept what I know I’ll cherish - T-shirts that I can sleep in, shirts he had worn on some of our sweetest dates or memories, hats that he wore proudly, even his couch where we spent so many nights snuggling, talking, watching our shows, mornings sipping our coffee and planning our day. Friends came to collect what was special to them.. His family generously gave my brother his furniture, clothes, shoes, kitchen supplies to set him up for his first apartment - an unmatched generosity, except of course by Sayed. The rest I put in storage until it is clear how to possibly part with a house full of memories linking me to the love of my life.
My mom and six friends came to help. They loaded a trailer at 4 pm in texas heat, boxed, sorted, and did the impossible for me. I needed them. I would try to work and then lay on his bed and sob. People keep saying “you’re so strong to get through this” first off: stop. I’m not strong. I have no choice. But second, no, I am being held through this. I am quite literally walking through the absolute fires of hell that feel like I will never get to emerge from, and friends and my dear dear family are stepping in the same fires, walking me through day after, moment after moment, CHOOSING to be burned by the same fires.
Just because they love me.
It is a love I cannot actually explain. It is carrying me. It brings me to sobs just writing about it.
A lot of people have said “let me know what you need” or “how can I help”. This is so kind, but if I’m being perfectly honest I don’t know. I don’t know what day it is. I hardly know my name. I certainly don’t know what I need or how to answer that question. So instead many have just shown up and done something, acknowledging that there is nothing specific to do because nothing brings him back. When I have no clue what I could possibly need, you have brought food, sent gift cards, sent money, flowers, beautiful kind words, sent books on grief, put food in front of me even when I’ve said I can’t eat, showed up to sit with me in silence, taken care of dogs, listened to me sob, said “I’m taking care of this. it’s handled”, packed his house, keep sending messages to let me know you’re here even when I don’t have the energy to respond, cleaned my house, driven me around. And above all of that, you have said “I am here, and I am listening”. A willingness to step into the depths of this ugliness, not knowing how dark it will get, not needing to know. Not trying to fix it, or talk me out of it, or find silver linings (there aren’t any, I’ve tried). Just stepping in and sitting with me. Tonight my mom texted me “it seems like a lifetime of sorrow in 2 weeks. I don’t know when it gets better. But I am with you”. She is one of many in that space with me. I have no words for such love. It is quite literally carrying me.
Your love has held me. Your love is what I need. I will need it for years to come.
Right foot left foot. I am going at this one moment at a time. One breath at a time. It is an unfathomable, all consuming, overwhelming grief at all moments of the day. You by my side, in this grief with me, is how I am going on.
Thank you is not enough.