Coping With Loss

How did the hap­pi­est day turn out to be the sad­dest day? How do I go there? How do I tell my story—our story—when I must feel so much pain to tell it com­pletely? Sit­ting still long enough to write about it means acknowl­edg­ing the ache, the low-grade hum of this relent­less grief. It is a hurt I have never known. Yet how do I describe such pain with­out describ­ing the hap­pi­ness? With­out that hap­pi­ness, I would be left with nothing. I moved the girls to Florida, to be closer to my fam­ily. This house is mine, I think. This skin holds my body, but this body does not feel mine. To feel my body, this house, would be to feel real­ity and, this, I am afraid to do. Today, for the first time, I woke up look­ing for Erik next...