I’ve probaby heard the question a half-dozen times in the past three weeks as doctors or nurses were checking my mom’s mental function during her hospital stay: What year is it?
And every single time-even though I know full well that it is 2017-the answer makes me suck in my breath. Because, really, how has the world kept turning since Dominic left us?
How, how, how can it be nearly three and a half years since I talked to him, hugged him, heard his voice?
But it is.
And the further we get from that point in time when the world as I knew it came crashing down, the harder it is for people around me to remember that I continue to carry this load.
I’ve gotten stronger. I’ve developed ways to work around the grief most days and in most situations.
Still, I find daily tasks more challenging than before. Sadness sneaks up on me and tears leak from my eyes. Anxiety stalks my heart and sometimes catches it.
I get tired-so, so tired-because there is just no reserve.
I wish I could press the “pause” button and give myself a little break.
But time (and life!) marches on.