Half a Year Away

It’s been six months since Evelyn left us. Sometimes it seems like it was years ago, and other times it still feels like she will walk through the door at any moment. Six months is a significant milestone for us. It’s half a year, 26 weeks, 182 days since we’ve been able to touch, hold, kiss, or talk to Evelyn. My days look like a sine wave. I laugh, but I feel guilty. I smile, but I don’t know why. In those moments when I laugh or smile, I forget for a split second that Evelyn is gone, then when the laughter is over, I remember, and then I feel guilty

I am angry a lot, but I try not to let it show. Sometimes I succeed. I read things that say to start the healing part, you have to let go of the anger and have forgiveness. I can’t do either of these because I feel as though I betray the memory of my daughter and what was taken from us that early summer morning. Friends and family offer up platitudes and prayers and I accept them with the intention from which they were given. I am grateful for my friends and my family.

A new normal has set into our lives now. I fight waking up in the morning and getting dressed for work. Wearing a suit and tie is what’s required, but I long for Fridays, not because it’s the end of the week, but because it means I don’t have to wear a suit. Riding the bus I stare out of the window or try to read, sometimes I sleep. If it’s not Karate night, I sit in front of the TV watching shows or playing video games. Once in a while, I go answer emails or update Facebook. The days are long and the nights are short. I cry a lot. I think of Evelyn. I wonder where she is and I wonder what she’s up to.

When I think of her urn and what it contains, I get angry. I try not to dwell on those thoughts too long.  Occasionally I go into her room. It’s not that I avoid her room, but when I step in, I’m bombarded with smells and sights. When I enter, I hear nothing. No birds outside, no cars going by, no talking in other parts of the house. Nothing, but my own heartbeat and and the ringing in my ears.

I worry for my wife and son. I feel helpless to be able to help them at times. At times if feels like walls are crumbling all around me. Each brick has Evelyn’s name on it.

Mostly I’m just angry.