It has been a rough week. Monday marked four years since we moved into the home where we planned to raise our children. Wednesday marked seven months since Coleman’s passing, and tomorrow would have been his 33rd birthday. I have cried more this week than I have in the last few months, and I don’t say that to get your pity, or so you call me and check on me, but I say it because it is my reality. Do you know that feeling when you are on the verge of tears, and you can feel things building up in your chest, and you feel open and raw? Like if one more tiny thing goes wrong, you will be in full-on breakdown mode? Yup. That has been me all week. Literally, I am tearing up talking about it. UGH.
Like I said… it’s been rough, so rough that I gave myself FULL BODY HIVES. Yes. Collarbone to ankles. When I went to the dermatologist, I was CONVINCED it had to be an allergic reaction, and the look on my face when he said it was due to stress almost took me out. I might have said, “Are you shitting me?”. I am walking around looking like a damn monster Frankenstein would have created in his lab because I am stressed. So I did the only thing I knew would help, and I have been writing. I have written several blog posts this week, but they are marked as private because I am uncomfortable with them being public. I did pull an excerpt from one that I wrote on Monday and an excerpt from one that I wrote last week that I felt comfortable sharing. So this isn’t a whole blog post but two smaller posts in one. I hope you enjoy reading them below.
This post was from Monday and is titled The House That Built Me.
My home has survived ice storms, tornado-level winds, flooding, hailing, and every other thing mother nature could throw my way. It has stood firm, protecting me from insane heat and cold temps, and for four years, it has done its job in protecting me from the outside elements. What it hasn’t been able to protect me from is the storm that has raged on inside for the last seven months. The sleepless nights and then sleeping all day, the screaming and crying at 2 AM. The begging and pleading. The falling asleep where his body was found and crying so hard I made myself sick. The anger and rage. The anxiety attacks. The nightmares that would leave me shaking. The calling my mom from the bathroom floor sobbing uncontrollably. I watched this house be built from the dirt up, and the whole time we were planning a future together in it, and now it is just me and empty rooms filled with unfulfilled promises and memories I wish I could box up and deal with another day.
This one is from last week titled: And they’re all standing around me singing “Happy Birthday to you.”
Over the last few weeks, I have not been able to shake the idea of all the things Coleman never got to do. He never got to see New York City at Christmas time. He never got to quit his job and start a BBQ restaurant. He also never got the dozens of god-awful tattoos he wanted that I kept saying no to. He never got to meet his nephew, or be a father— God. So many never statements.
I made a comment in therapy a few weeks ago that I wanted to stay 33 because I didn’t want to go into a year that Coleman never saw me as. I want to freeze time and just let things stay exactly as he last saw them because the thought of him never getting to see me graduate with my master’s or become a counselor or one day become a mother is too damn heartbreaking to think about. If he stays 32 and I stay 33, then the idea of forever without him will be easier to grasp. In February, while I was dealing with some administrative things at the courthouse, a secretary commented, “OH, 32. So young!” while she was putting in the information from the death certificate. I said something like, “mmhmm.” and then she said, “He will forever be 32,” and then went on with her typing, and that phrase has echoed in my head since because it feels so unfair that he will forever be 32, and I don’t get to stay 33.
All in all I am proud of my progress over the last seven months and I hope I can look back on this post down the road and continue to be proud of myself for being honest and transparent during this time. Love, Brittany
For what it’s worth, I am proud of you too!!
You are now, have always been, and will continue to be truly remarkable!
You have such a gift for expressing deep hard beautiful thoughts. Please continue to share your writing. It helps me pray for you and it helps give me understanding for my friends going through the loss of someone who is their life.