It has been 74 days since the Basha died.
My brain seems to be coming back. I am remembering the Spanish that I’d learned. My phone and the computer aren’t as incomprehensible as they were before. I’ve even cooked for myself (a few times). I have been getting out and socializing with friends. I smile. I laugh. Sometimes I feel almost normal.
Then, something out-of-the-blue will hit me and I’ll be falling all over again. Grief overwhelms me. I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I am drowning.
The things that annihilate my sense of well-being are NOT always bad things. Frequently they are GOOD things: memories, a gift from a friend, a hug. And I find myself looking around for the Basha to share them with him. The house is quiet. He is not here. He won’t be here again. Ever.
And in those moments the house of cards falls. Things aren’t normal. I don’t know what normal is because my normal doesn’t exist any more. I wipe away the tears, take a deep breath, and begin to rebuild.