Harsh

No magic on any plane of existence can return you to us. Nothing. Nothing ever in this lifetime can restore my father. A gaping hole in my heart yearns for your voice, your plaid shirts, your long ambling figure striding off into the tall green...and nothing can fill that hole. Nothing.
Not ever.

A harsh reality. I am left standing alone screaming into the wind, begging to have this nightmare end. I've been in this position before, when my best friend died several years ago. My heart has barely healed from that death. And will never fully heal from any loss of such importance. Two blows. It's no wonder why my heart is having palpitations.

What is healing...is healing lessening of pain but not the fullness of joy....is healing forgetting the trauma but lingering in longing....my healing is never to know that fullness but to find other paths to joy.

What was it like...putting the rope around your neck...taking your last breaths...feeling us as your left...the final beats of your heart...

Were you already gone, just a shell barely mobile to prove that life can exists in a human body without a soul.... why....

Why did you choose that day? Why could you not heal yourself..why did you have to get sick... I know the answers but I want to know WHY. Why did my dad have to be one of 5000 to get sick. Why did nothing help him. Why why why.

I know. I can talk up a storm and convince myself of anything to be comfortable. But sometimes I am angry that my dad's joy and life was taken from him by a fuckin pill. A stupid fucking pill.

Over 20 years that pill's damage increased and took you further and further from us. Stronger was your yearning for death, release from the unyielding pain and depression from the pain.

How I wish I could've healed you.

I scream inside at the frustration from not having been more helpful. What if I had done this or that... oh the what ifs.... and the why nots...

Shit. I'm just angry. I hate not being able to leave everyone and everything when I need time alone. I wish I could travel alone for a time, finding answers in winds far off...but my time is needed at home. I shut out my grief to paste a smile on my face and turn off my pain to keep from breaking crock pots on the floor.

Fake. All fake.

Grief is like a plague. I'm surviving but will never forget.