Waves Still Crash

This morning, as I stood in my kitchen listening to Chris Stapleton serenade me while I drank my coffee, I looked over at our breakfast table. Bryan’s chair has a basket of clean towels I need to fold resting on it. The lyrics “Time keeps tickin’ on by so slow They say it’ll heal you, but I hope it don’t though” punched me in the gut. And then the tears started. The warmth and cadence of Bryan’s voice, talking about everything, his endless curiosity seeking out what I thought, the way his eyes would light up at me like I was the most beautiful woman on earth–they are so astonishing in their absence, his absence. My kitchen, filled with music and memories, is empty without him here.

The rhythm of regular days, working, walking, dancing, singing, tending cats, gardening, cooking, cleaning (not as much as I should), paying bills, discovering new expenses, whack-a-moling the problems and surprises that arise all fill space; they don’t fill his space. And they don’t erase the ache that is now a permanent feature to my heart. My God, I miss him so much.