Tomorrow is my husband’s funeral.
Today, tomorrow, what the fuck ever. I haven’t slept yet so it still feels like tomorrow.
This is so sureal. just the stupidest, most fracicial, bizarrest thing.
But I know it’s real. I know, because I asked the nurse in the ICU, while we were waiting. Waiting for fucking everything. People, police, x-rays, organ donor woman, the last few hours. Waiting. And I asked her- “Is this real? I’m not dreaming?”. And she said “No, you’re not”.
Which was good. No I’m sorry. No pity, no softening the blow. Because this is fucked. And it’s fucking horrible and being sorry doesn’t fucking help anything.
Fuck. I fucking bury mu husband tomorrow. In a grotesque, gothic way, today felt like the day before my wedding. And, oddly, ironically, the night beofre has the same sense of quite anti-climax.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m wiriting here, as i said, because i have to.I know my grief, my experience, my stigma- it makes some people uncomfortable at the moment. And I don’t give a fuck.
As always, I love you lot. I am strong and I can do this. I can do this. In a twisted, heart breaking way, I’m looking forward to it. The ritual. The saying goodbye. The celebration.
Ok. I’m out. Ihave a post, coming, next week, I’m sure, to tell you all how freaking awesome you are. You know how uch I appreciate it. I just don’t even have the head space to process the amazing, incredible things you lot- this communtiy, the Intenet communtiy, my communtiy, have done for me. I can’t even begin to expres… you’ve taken me and held me and softened my blow and I love you all so much. I want to write it properly, when I can do it justice.
Exhausted. Out. xoxo