|Grief (Photo credit: Wikipedia)|
I literally feel as though I have a blunt knife slowly eviscerating me.
I mentally feel like I've been knocked down again to a new level in this horrible death-march month.
I physically feel sick with that low, visceral pain that you feel when you first hear those words "I'm sorry, but he did not survive".
You see, just after I wrote last week's post, I found out that the "fatal car accident" that I kept hearing about on the radio news was my friend's husband.
Another husband and father cut down, smashed, taken in the prime of his life.
Another wife and mother who has to feel like I feel.
Another woman who will lie awake at night and rail at how this could have possibly happened to her family.
Two more children who will ask what Daddy sounded like or how his skin felt or what he smelled like.
Mutual friends have phoned me to ask what they can do.
I don't have a lot of advice. ... as we all know, there is no quick fix. There is no book that can adequately explain to a 6-year-old that Daddy is dead and won't ever come back. There is no grief potion that will alleviate the symptoms in 24-48 hours.
So I say what I always say - just keep talking to her. Don't run away from the pain. Be there. Talk. Hug.
.....and that there are an army of other widows and widowers here who are always ready to talk and to listen.
Who know what it feels like.
Who help by talking about the pain.
Who hope when all hope seems lost.
....even at 2 am.
So I will point her here, and I will talk with her, and I will sit with her, and I will share my tiny sliver of hope with her until she can find her own glistening shard to cling to.