Travel has always been a major part of my work life. I’ve seen interesting places, stayed in beautiful hotels, and felt genuinely lucky that this was part of my job.
Marc and I had it down to a science. We managed our travel schedules easily. One of us was almost always home. There was a rhythm to it.
That was the before.
Today is my first trip since he died.
It’s short. In and out of Cincinnati in one day.
But it’s still one of the after-s.
My routine is different now.
He wasn’t sleeping soundly beside me when my alarm went off.
I wasn’t tiptoeing around the room trying not to wake him.
I didn’t sneak back in to kiss his forehead before I left.
(That one gutted me.)
On the way to the airport, I grabbed my phone to text him that I made it safely.
(That one stung.)
Grief is a bitch. There’s no prettier way to say it. And so far, there’s nothing about this “new” reality that I actually like. Not one thing.
How do you hold both of these things at once — gratitude for being alive and deep dislike for the life you’re currently living?
I don’t have answers. I just have feelings.
Today I felt sad. Maybe very sad.
But I also felt proud.
Proud that I got out of bed.
Showered.
Stepped on a rogue razor blade and sliced my foot open (because of course I did).
Walked past the empty side of the bed.
Felt the ache of longing — and still made my way out the door.
I put one foot in front of the other. (One of them bleeding into a high heel because I couldn’t find a bandaid in time…of course I couldn’t.)
I didn’t cry in TSA.
I didn’t cry when I asked for a bandaid.
I didn’t cry when I boarded the plane.
And I didn’t cry when I remembered that Marc is no longer available for texts about flight departures.
I’m still going.
Still living.
Still moving forward — even though there is a very large part of me that doesn’t want to do any of it without my person.
This is the after.
And apparently, I’m still standing in it, in high heels, although now (thankfully) with a bandaid. 🙂
(((((Hug)))))
Hug right back!