Two days. It’s been two days since a man that I had connected with passed away. The cause still unknown and I think of his mother. Her baby is gone before her. He’s gone before he was old enough to have gray hair and the kind of wrinkles that only come with time and years worth of laughter he won’t get.
He’s just gone.
I woke up this morning thinking “but I can still text him right? He’s not really gone.” Then I cried in the shower.
I’m glad I never ereased out texts. I still have them all. I can’t stand the thought of reading them, but I have them in case I change my mind.
At this point the thought of what his mom must feel is killing me the most. Being a mother is like part of your heart living outside of your body and not always being able to protect it. It’s the best and worst thing.
I don’t know what it’s like to watch that piece of you grow and go live their own life. Especially since her son went and chased his dream every day, and succeeded. I can only imagine how it’s been to watch, and how this feels now.
I’ve been praying for her. There’s nothing else to do. She knows how great he was, she’s probably had a LOT of people to tell her all of the great stories, memories, lessons he gave them. She will need time and love and maybe things she doesn’t even know herself yet.
I’m torn between being so sad I can’t stand it and feeling like I have no right to be upset. In the graph or chart of important people to him, his mother likely being the center or ranked highest…I don’t even make the chart. That’s not a knock against him… I just know in his life I was a tiny blip on the radar. I’m realistic about it. But I cared… I really liked him… I thought about him and how he was. Not how he was performing. How he was doing, mentally, emotionally, physically.
I won’t make it to the funeral. They’re being held in his home town and at his training center. I would’ve just stood towards the back of wherever, as hidden as possible, and just cried my eyes out anyway. Maybe there will be a televised version and I can just mourn by myself on the couch. That’s preferable for me anyway.
There’s a heaviness to grief. It sits on you till you can’t breathe. It threatens to stop your lungs from filling, your heart from beating. Grief is cruel though. It doesn’t immediately end your life… just slowly devours it a piece at a time. You have to fight against it if you want to see the other side. Then it’s just like a shadow that follows you around but you might forget little bits at a time.
I may anonymously send his mother flowers. I know there won’t be any shortage of those but I still want to.
My heart still hurts. It just hurts.