I can’t. I just can’t.

I’m scared that if I start, I’ll fall into the giant chasm of despair, that’s waiting for me ever so quietly, patiently, and I’m not sure I would have the strength to claw myself back out.

I can’t think much about my new reality. I just can’t. How can I acknowledge the fact that the kids are going to grow up without their Dad? How can I even contemplate the idea that Darby and Julius will have absolutely no memory of Frith? And that Quinn will only have snippets and stories and photos? And that Chance’s heart will always be a bit sad and heavy with the absence of such an amazing Dadda.

I just can’t.

You say that I’m being brave and strong. I feel neither courage nor strength; it’s just my survival and Mama bear instincts getting me out of bed every day. I do it because I can’t bare the thought of the kids losing me to the grief that simmers just below the surface.

Don’t make me imagine my life without him. We had plans. We had dreams. We had ideas. We had choices. And we made them all together. Don’t ask me to now make them all on my own.

Don’t tell me my husband is gone for good.

I’ll tell you I’ll deal with it another day.