Chris used to come home from Wing Tsun and have me run to hug him, telling him all about what happened. There were many times my anxious mind would cry, like when Shepard died. I’d sit there begging God not to take Chris and have that voice tell me he wouldn’t be. That I deserved to be happy and that Chris and I would have years together. Except we didn’t.
So I’m sitting here, on Peru’s bed, crying. A mixture of someone seizing because of course they do and praying that I don’t loose Peru as well.
And this is what people mean when they say it takes strength after loss. It takes courage. Because I am painfully aware that everything could be fine and 5 minutes later he be gone. That this man, who came in out of nowhere knowing the broken that I was, knowing how much I love Chris but still wants to protect me and keep me warm and make me laugh and have me talk about Chris, could no longer walk this earth. And it is terrifying if I let myself think on it too long.
I think in many ways this post is the most private. I do a pretty good job of ‘being okay.’ But there are moments I’m not. There are moment’s Chris’s death is still as raw as it was July 14, 2017. I have been changed in so many ways. I am stronger. I’ve learned to take risks because the next moment isn’t guaranteed. But I am changed. For better or for worse.