It’s. About to be that time. The time that will forever be felt in my heart. The time that sweet Emrys, the most beautiful love I have ever known, looked deep into my eyes as I called him an Angel, smiled, took a breath, and went limp in my arms. The arms that received him, were also the arm in which he left this world. Whoever said that love doesn’t hurt does not know what love is. This hurts beyond anything that I have ever known. You don’t bounce back from this. But you learn. People will leave. You will get told you need to let go. You will get told it will get better, and you will feel abnormal because you are not in the place others believe you should be in. And you retreat into solitude so that you can grieve without anyone having to see.
That’s what we did. We moved, and decided that no one would come until we are ready, and we would decide who and when. Right now, I am at my desk telling Emrys’ Story while Juju’s long distance friend keeps her entertained playing a game. A very select few have reached out to see if we need anything. It is as if we don’t exist. It’s better that way. More peaceful. And we don’t have to feel bad for feeling as we do.
Just recently, I discovered that when you are in our situation and someone asks “how are you,” it is offensive to respond with “I’m alive.” It’s not just offensive, its the ultimate form of rudeness. Or so I was told when I responded in that manner. But do you know what IS actually offensive? Asking someone who is grieving what stage of grief they are in IS extremely offensive. Do you know why? It’s because the 5 Stages of Grief, which has been modified and is now called the 7 Stages of Grief, was actually written about what people diagnosed with a terminal illness go through. Shocking? Do a little research. I wouldn’t say this if I couldn’t back it up.
We went into solitude, not because we couldn’t face the world, but because we got tired. Tired of being looked at with pitty. Tired of explaining ourselves. Tired of hearing about what we should be doing. Tired of being told we need to let go. And tired of being asked how we are doing when people don’t really want to hear what our response will be.
And the time has passed. I can still feel him. I can still feel his tiny hand touching my cheek. I remember him lifting his little long legs so I could get his tiny toes. But most of all, I remember how it felt to look into the eyes of the purest, most innocent, and greatest love I have ever known.
It is now FIVE MONTHS WITHOUT EMRYS. And time to begin revealing more truths.
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