Maybe, after three years, today offered the crack that allows the grieving to begin

I've been captured by PTS and the manic anxiety of traumatized. Today, I had a brief moment when grieving for the love I've lost arrived, sparkling and new and with gushing tears.

I grieve the loss of my best friend. I loved her very much.

I grieve the loss of the part of myself that could entirely trust another person. I like him…that David. He was unusual in his creative views, and kind an empathic perhaps to a fault.

I grieve that I'll never hold Mina again. I felt so safe when we touched. There were so many parts of you I loved to touch and explore.  

I grieve that I'll never have the rest of the great conversations I looked forward to.

I grieve that my dearest friend and life partner could never say that she valued me.

I grieve that I’ll never see your smile again. When you smiled, you were happy.  I was filled with joy when I saw you that way.

I grieve that you’re apparently sick, and no longer the person you were.  The thought that the woman I loved does not exist any longer feels like having a limp ripped off.  The permanence of this loss is truly suffocating.  Most parts of me simply cannot acknowledge the brutal finality of knowing a cherished thing does not exist and never will again.

I grieve for the four dear cats we shared…as gone as my partner is.  I can’t make eye contact with this truth.

I grieve the loss of those rare moments when you let yourself be free and I saw it.  Few, but that playful Mina is in there somewhere you did share her with me…those rare sublime flashes of vitality.

I grieve that I’ll never see your red hair coming toward me with a look that said you were glad to see me. That’s been a truth that’s been a large source of my PTSD…to try to comprehend your indifference to something that was the most precious thing, to me, that I’ll ever dream of.

Ah well… there you are.  This is how I begin the long goodbye for myself.  This is how Mina, my life partner and best friend, enters the realm of our lost cats, my parents, my saner brother…grief is the language of honoring the dead before we turn away from the grave and walk back to the cold car alone.