With tenderness gently caressing my right hand to open up. Balling into a fist at jolting traumatic memories triggered by adjusting the bedside table closer to the bed. I breathe into it – the rush of a thousand hours of ache, worry, fear, death – the loss of you, us, me in the single movement.
It happened. We struggled. You died. I mourn. Nothing to fix. It is.
Waves of emotions a riptide caring me out… away…away… breathe.
It happened. We struggled. You died. I grieve. I grieve. I grieve.