Death is Permanent

We all know that death is permanent but when you are so involved with your grief and your grieving turns from shock to the reality of your situation. There is a profound shift.
The realization that you will never see them again hits hard. Harder than it did when their death is still fresh. You spiral out of control. All that you knew of your grief, the work you have done to get this far to survive evaporates.
Is this my second stage of grief? A harder grief than what it was before.
This grief confirms that I will never see you again. You will never be real again. The baby I grew, the boy I raised, the man you were becoming – are gone.
Even though you are in the forefront of my mind each and everyday and I will never ever forget you, others have. Everyone has moved on and yet I have not. Of course, life forces me to move on somewhat, I have to work, I have to socialize with people, I have to put on my happy face everyday and go out into the world when I do not want to.
With this realization, comes a depth of loneliness that cannot be filled by a friend or family. A void so deep that I feel that I will split in two at any moment. Since September 2, I have been struggling with this. I am not the person I was on September 1. I cannot stop crying. I am not sleeping and I am not eating. I am not washing my hair or changing my clothes and the self sabotage feels good. I know that you would not be happy with me and that you would be concerned about me and that you would try to fix it for me. But you cannot fix it. You are not here to fix it. You have gone and I am left empty.
I am feeling as if I won’t be able to pull out of this stage and move ahead. I am stuck. I do not want to tell people, have their pity and hear their words of what can I do? You should eat, you need to eat. If I knew what I needed, I would do it. If I could eat, I would. These may sound like easy things for everyone but put on my shoes, walk my journey. Where would you be? Would you be as far as I am? Perhaps, perhaps you would be further, perhaps you would still be at the beginning of your journey. I do not need advice, I do not need your worries. I need you to be my rock, standing tall and strong and let me lean while I teeter. Don’t let me fall.
Let me ride this stage of my grief. It is harder now that everyone has gone back to their lives, I no longer have the support I once did. No one just sitting quietly with me. Those check-ins no longer happen. Rather, I get “love” or “hug” emojis on a social media post. No comments, no visits, no calls and a rare text …. rare.
Would it help me? Perhaps. But I have no way to know, I am left alone to grieve. Monkey, this is not your fault. You were sick and I understand but the acceptance is harder. I love you and I always will. I am so proud of you and I always will be. I miss you more and more and this will never get easier. The longer you have been gone, the more I miss you. I love you, Monkey but miss you more.