My Journey Through The Dark Night Of The Soul—Fuck The Cheese.

I look around overwhelmed—so many faces, some I know and some I don’t; each of them uncomfortable to be with me in this room and in my grief. In their eyes I can see sadness, shock, disbelief and one more thing… I see RELIEF, relief that “THIS” is not happening to them.

I am exhausted, defeated and I am barley standing.  The room is full and I have never felt more alone. I close my eyes, I want to disappear.  I am shaking, I don’t trust my legs to walk me across the room infront of everyone to my seat in the front pew of the church.

My body is frozen; I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t do this.  A shiver moves through my body that rattles my bones and haunts my soul and I am over taken with its darkness.  A feeling that seems to last an eternity in a few short moments.

I take a deep breath; clutching the arm next to me with one hand, his ashes in the other and all together we take a step into the church.

I am no longer in my body. I’m hovered above where I have been many times before. Safe in the space in between here and there—dissociated from my body. I watch myself dressed in black moving through the motions; trying to be strong, trying to be brave but I see nothing but a broken, hollow shell of being left standing in my place.

I can feel their eyes watching me, tracking and tracing my every move and I feel vulnerable and weak. I close my eyes and I pray for it to be all over.

In the days, months, years to follow I feel numb, vacant and alone. People’s lives resume, their day to day continues and somewhere in the distance I hear ordinary conversations about the weather, organized sports, shopping sales and retail therapy and all the while I am sitting drowning in my agony and dying in my despair.

All I want is someone to throw me  a fucking life line, to reel me into the arms of safety.  Someone to show up and sit with me in my silence, to join me in my screams, and wipe away my tears as I unearth that deep shiver that had settled in my bones that day and continues still to haunt me.

I want someone to wrap me up in their arms and reassure that I am going to be okay, that somehow  I am going to survive this.  Someone to remind me wash my face, eat my veggies, drink more water, bathe my body, change my sheets, open the blinds and let the light in.  I want someone to comfort me, nourish me, love me and take away my hurt.

I want him.

I do not want to hear; not one more fucking time—“this too shall pass”, or “I don’t know how you do it” because I might explode if I do. I don’t want my days filled with pitying faces stopping by to do their due diligence so that they can feel better. So that they can make that nice tidy little check in the box next to: send flowers, send a message, drop off the meat and cheese.

I am angry, I want to die, fuck the cheese.

It took me nine years to remember to breathe again after his death and after that day. Nine years of trying to slowly die an honourable death; so that I could be with him. It was agony, a slow and painful dissolve of who I was disappearing like sand in an hour glass. Nine years of living my own Dark Night Of The Soul; the space between living and dying where I merely existed before I let go and surrendered to my excruciating darkness, letting the light begin to shine within again.