John has been gone a month at the time I'm writing this. One month ago today, I kissed his forehead and walked out of the room leaving his physical body, my dearest friend and great love, behind. I realize now that I was in a state of shock. Operating normally enough on the surface but reeling with sorrow underneath. Holding myself together for the sake of my children, but bereft. Probably not hiding it very well though I supposed at the time that I was.
But two things happened that I have not shared. Two other griefs, which are wrapped up in losing my beloved. The Sunday morning of his last day, when I'd been told he'd passed away, before I went in to see him and he miraculously regained consciousness, one of the first people I called was my brother. I told him John had died. "Well Terri, it's going to happen to all of us at some point. I'm sorry." I asked him to please let Mama know.
