Four Days

For four days things almost felt normal.

While there were some initial hugs and sentiments, things almost felt normal.

"I'm not going to say anything to you, just hug you."

And it was comforting to not be greeted with eyes of pity or platitudes of, "You'll get through it," "He's in a better place," or, a personal favourite, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Instead, it was like any other hockey tournament. 

This one was special, though.

The largest women's tournament and an arena full of the faces I've gotten to know since I laced up my hockey skates for the first time 6 years ago.

For four days we played hockey, laughed and joked in the dressing room, cheered each other on.

But when my eyes went to the stands I could see spouses, kids and families of other players roaring and hollering, rushing down to meet them after the game or giving an encouraging hug or kiss before they hit the ice.

And he wasn't there.

Those were the moments when I knew not a damn thing was normal.

The garage door wasn't open when I got home, waiting for my hockey equipment to be thrown in.

Brad wasn't sitting at the table on a late meeting giving me his smile and little wave as he chatted away on Zoom.

There was no waving Hello Fresh cards to let him choose what I should cook.

And no laying in the bathtub to soak sore muscles after the game and hear him start to strum his guitar in the kitchen.

"Let me take you down 'cause I'm going to..."

No texting him from the tub to tell him how my favourite part of a bath is hearing him play while I just close my eyes and lay back.

Instead the garage door was down, the lights were off and the house was silent.

No Vinny running to meet me at the door

And I remembered again that nothing is normal.

So I would just get in my (his) comfy clothes and sit in my corner of the couch while his stays vacant.

6 weeks.

How in the hell has it been 6 weeks?

6 weeks and I still expect to hear him call from somewhere else in the house or the yard asking if I know where something is and of course I know, so I grab it and walk to where he is, hand it to him and he always says, "That's my girl. Keeps me straight."

I can't even keep myself straight anymore.

I stay up all night wishing I could sleep and when sleep finally happens I just wish I wouldn't wake up and this would all go away.

I spend nights now on online support groups, Zoom calls with others who have lost their loves and I listen as people talk about their preparations and goodbyes while watching someone fade away.

I didn't get that.

He didn't fade; he was snuffed out.

Gone.

Stolen.

We were robbed.

I've found a house I like.

And I fully expect it will not work out because why would it?

Why would that work out when my entire life has always been periods of hope and ruin?

It just feels so wrong that the world continues and people keep strolling around Walmart doing their thing while I'm frozen in an aisle trying not to break down because he loved those spicy pistachios.

The visits have stopped.

My friends are all buying houses and getting engaged or married and adopting pets and going to events and galas.

I'm just here.

Don't get me wrong - I have an extensive support system and more people behind me than I ever thought possible.

But I've never felt so alone.

People say to let them know if I need anything but there's one thing I need and he was stolen violently.

When I stand outside the garage now I realize that if I had been standing in that spot that night I would have heard the crash.

It's so quiet out here.

I wonder how many people were out looking at the stars in the quiet of this neighbourhood like we often did in the nighttime and heard him die?

How many heard the sound of impact and wondered what it was before going back in to continue their night while our night and world came to a crashing halt?

I had counseling again today.

And while crying and going on and on to an independent third party without skin in the game releases the pressure the rot at the bottom of the tank is still there.

My counselor asked if I had tried meditation.

How can I try meditation when my brain has never stopped going 200 mph since the day I was born and is constantly in overdrive?

Brad was like that and we understood each other.

It took me so long to love and find myself.

I had never been truly happy until he walked into my life and someone understood me, I understood him and we knew exactly how to make all of the broken parts in both of us fit together.

We just worked.

I was happy.

And now I don't know who I am anymore.

I have to re-invent whatever and whoever I am to match the hell of these circumstances.

My partner is dead.

My dogs are dead.

I'm still just here and the vessel I call a body is so empty and vacant now.

The only thing that lives inside is that burning in my chest that feels like any day it will just rip open but it's okay, there's nothing inside to spill out.

There's nothing left.

And I just keep asking why he had to be taken like that.

One swift second.

No time to even tell him how happy he made me, how I appreciated every little thing, how I loved every part of him, even the parts he would say he didn't love himself.

I will always feel like I didn't tell him those things enough as we hustled through work days and board meetings and errands and groceries and all of those little things you do just to try and play your part in this world.

And in all of those things and in between there was love.

So much love.

He used to tell me he knew.

I knew too.

But I'll always wish I had that one last moment to make sure he knew the extent and depth of it all.

I'm so tired.

The sun will soon go down again and I'll go curl up on my end of the couch as always and his will be empty again.

Maybe I'll throw on that Growlers scarf I gave him for Xmas that he loved so much and watch the game.

I don't know much anymore.

But I do know with confidence that this living is hell, this pain feels like it could just consume from the inside out.

For four days things almost felt normal.

And then I was reminded that nothing will ever be that normal I knew, ever again.