42 days, can that be true?
So much, and yet so little has passed.
The first 42 hours, and many more, were numbness, shock.
I cannot describe it. It cannot be described
I did not know how to think. I could not! I dared not!
I did not know how to feel, yet feel was all I did, nothing else.
I cannot explain. . .

Every moment a cry, a silent scream. Not for help, but at the recognition that I could not solve this problem. This was something I could not fix!
She always told me to stop trying to fix everything.
I cannot fix this . . . there is nothing I can do.
To bring her back!

I did not want, no, could not, talk to anyone,
Or look into anyone’s eyes.
I tried to look into her eyes, but she was no longer there
I still see that – it is not bearable.

I try to explain it to others repeatedly.
If you have never experienced it,
You do not understand.
You cannot understand.
You should not want to understand.

Those who have, do.
The pain is obvious, they cry with me.

After 42 days, I can finally talk to others, talk about other things Even with enthusiasm.
But when the conversation shifts, moves to her,
My entire body begins to choke, to spasm with loss, raw loss.
While the house is sorted and organized, she is still here.
I am not ready to disperse her ashes

And now, after 42 days,
I have begun to feel the anger creeping in.
Anger is no substitute for love.