What haunts me most is the thought that Jim is not okay. How can I know? Is he feeling sadness? Is he really in a better place?
I googled “proof of after life” to get some sort of reassurance.
Visiting the office was hard. Memories of Jim is very strong there. But friends and officemates were around, and they did their best. On a weak moment, alone in my cube, I sobbed.
I didn’t know mourning is a physical pain. That your entire body would feel weak, cold, and heavy.
I long for that broken hard drive to be repaired, photos when it was just the two of us. This year, I was too preoccupied on documenting the baby’s life that I failed to document his.
Just a couple of months ago, I remember blurting out to Jim: “I”m actually happy. It’s as if I have everything I ever wanted.” He teased me for being cheesy, and I teased him back.
And now, “a part of me has died.” I never really understood what this meant until now.
To our dearest friends, thank you for your messages and SMS. I read and re-read them when alone … and it has helped me more than you know.
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