I am in an oasis right now, suspended between two worlds.
Ten days ago, I brought my children and my parents (or rather, they brought me), and we traveled to the family across the country who know how to love us, feed us, and swallow us whole. We gathered our thoughts, our lives, ourselves.
In retrospect, it seems the trip has been divided into thirds: 1) funeral and public grief, 2) private mourning and quiet recovery, and 3) rest and strengthening. And tomorrow, we begin our journey home.
I cannot fathom what awaits me.
His death and the days that followed were such a frenzied blur of trauma, grief, and tragedy, and then we whisked ourselves away. I couldn't feel yet while I was there. Even now, it seems like I've simply left him behind. Like perhaps he'll greet me at the top of the escalator at the airport. With flowers and balloons. Because he would have.
I left the house where my husband died. I will return to the home where he no longer lives.
Ready or not, I am about to create this new life. A new normal. A new us.
I didn't want to let go of the old one.