A Day at a Time

For anyone following along, you know that I've survived death and learned to breathe underwater. It took a long time. And some days, I flounder, choke on my tears.

When you lose someone you love, you do not get over it. It doesn't get better. You survive it and you learn to breathe underwater. I still think about him every single day. At least once a day. Sometimes several times in a few minutes.

I still can't watch certain shows, hear certain music, read certain books, or go to certain places. I'm crippled in more ways than one by his death. But I keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I don't know what else to do. It hurts. That doesn't stop either. You just learn to work through the pain and avoid the things that make you notice it.

This week my nephew signed his divorce papers and has been having trouble breathing. I was so upset for him. I wanted to help him but I can't. His heart is broke, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now. I know this because the loss of a person you love has the same effect on you when they die. And when you love, it just doesn't go away because you throw dirt on someone or you sign a paper. You don't just get over it.

I'm thankful that Jerry loved me until the day he died. He said he would, and he kept that promise. I have survived seven years without Jerry. I haven't lived a darker time in my life. I haven't lived a more painful time. I haven't gotten over it. I just learned to get through it. One day at a time.