This is not the same numbness of the ICU days, of knowing potentialities and holding them all at bay.

Is this denial? You know what has happened but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel the sadness, you don’t feel the pain. You feel normal, except you also feel that something very large is missing. Your blind spot has grown beyond proportion. You feel pressed against a glass wall between you and the rest of your world, between you and the rest of your feelings.

You fear that you have distanced yourself as a bulwark against this loss for so long that you have actually been successful. You hate yourself for that. You worry that this is it, this numbness of near normalness ends your sadness. You will be able to look at old pictures now, at him holding his grandsons, at him playing his horn, at him with the dogs, and not feel anything. Not a week since the funeral and this is the limit of your grief? You are a monster.

You search in your hollow self for the pain. He left a message on your phone. You did not delete it. You listen. You aren’t numb anymore.  Your chest burns deep beneath the bone. Still, that his voice is there, on your phone, but he is not in his chair in Texas. You cannot call him back. You don’t feel that. That is a thought that pesters your skin, your cells, but cannot break through. This sadness, visceral, perplexes you. How is he not there? Why do you hurt as if he is not there? Your rational mind and your emotions know the same thing, but don’t sync.

You falter back to numb.