What I want you to know…

What I want you to know is that grieving is loving. And because my love for you, Wen, is endless, eternal, deep, my grief is too.

What I want you to know is that while I might appear “better,” I still struggle with getting through every day and every night. It is a struggle that devours my energy, leaving me in a permanent state of utter exhaustion.

What I want you to know is that grieving is a full-time job with no beginning, end, and no break. Ever. So, if I can’t do some activity, it is often not because I don’t want to but because I simply have no energy left.

What I want you to know is that I sometimes need to be alone. So that I can allow myself to be with my grief and my pain and my anguish to the fullest extent. Facing it head on.

What I want you to know is that grief alters you on a deep, cellular level, shattering your emotional core, and giving you real physical pain.

What I want you to know is how I grieve not just Wen and our together-life, but also the ‘me’ that is lost, the reflections and echos of me that Wen would provide, and the loss of those people who turned away from me, abandoned me.

What I want you to know is how my grief is compounded by trauma. The horror of those three weeks burnt forever in my mind and soul. So I don’t just work through my grief but also through my trauma.

What I want you to know is that I need YOU. You might think year 2 is easier for me but in some ways I am lonelier than ever before. Reach out to me. Come over and visit me. I might not always says ‘yes’ because I just can’t. Don’t be discouraged by my ‘no.’ Eventually I will say ‘yes’. Keep trying.

What I want you to know is that I need you to speak Wen’s name. Talk with me about her, sit with me at the memorial table, look at our photos, share memories, connect with her, keep her present WITH me. Against forgetting. Sometimes I feel I’m the only one who does.

What I want you to know is that often I don’t need words, but a hug, an embrace, a stroking of my arm or my hair. Wen and I always touched and it is this physical aspect that leaves my body yearning for touch.

What I want you to know is that I am trying. Every day. Really hard. And sometimes darkness envelops me from one second to another. And then I pick myself up again.

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