I am afraid of my house. The way the lighting reflects off the walls at night and reminds me of the police chaplin coming to the door. I am afraid to leave my bedroom door open while I sleep in case I open my eyes in the night and see you hanging there. I am afraid of your desk chair and your favorite cup. The one you said you liked because the shape “speaks to you’. I am afraid of your room, seeing your sneakers just laying there like that kills me. It cuts right through me to see them there waiting for feet that are buried deep in the ground. I am afraid to open your door and be forced to start this process over and so I leave it closed and imagine all the dust that must be collecting.
I am afraid of my thoughts, when the tears come and won’t stop and I am driving with the sun in my eyes, hoping I don’t hit someone hoping I hit something. I am afraid to be out in public, I might see someone or something that reminds me of you and I feel that pain, that horrible knot in my throat that makes me feel like I’m choking and I go straight to thoughts of how it must have felt for you to die. With no air. I am afraid of going to sleep, when I wake up in the night my mind instantly flashing to the hand print you left on the beam where the rope burns were. I am afraid of my imagination. Seeing you swinging there, struggling.
I am afraid to go to work, always pushing myself harder, hoping praying wondering if I am being silently judged. Walking the fine line between looking like I have it all together and not wanting folks to think you didn’t matter. I am afraid to talk about you and I am afraid not to. You were always a part of my daily conversation. I am afraid my clients will find out because I don’t want to talk about you with them anymore.
I am afraid of my future, you were the one thing I saw clearly. I am afraid of growing old, because I will be all alone. I am afraid of watching my friends holding their grandkids because I want to be happy for them while my arms are empty. I am afraid to let anyone close again because promises mean nothing now.
I am afraid to process my grief with my talented wonderful heart healing friends who could make this better because I am afraid that if the pain subsides you will be gone, too. I am afraid to let go of this pain because someone should ache for you. I am afraid you will be forgotten and your life would not have mattered when it was all that ever mattered to me.
I am afraid to write this blog. Wondering if it is all too much to say, too much to share, and even worse, I am afraid I am the only one who feels this way. Purging and crying at my laptop in my pajamas, wondering if it is too much, bringing all this to the surface knowing that I will have to put myself back together at the end.
I am afraid to let my smile fade because if it does, it may not come back. Because truly, I am afraid that I just don’t care.