Not Ready

I struggled with a title for this one.

I’m on night shift, on the ALC ward, which means they’re sleeping.

I do my hourly rounds, make sure they’re all still breathing, but once my chores were done, there’s not much else to do.

So I watch Netflix.

I’ve been watching Timeless again. I want to re-watch the seasons before I watch the finale.

Tonight, for whatever reason, I put on Grey’s Anatomy.  I know what happens in Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve watched the entire series a few times. It makes me bawl every freaking time.

This time? This time I turned it off just after the opening scene.  The one where Derek and Meredith slept together? Where she kicked him out first thing? yeah, that one.

I turned it off because the promise of the (very fictional, I know) love they shared, the promise of the heartache they’d go through to finally find their happily ever after, only to get to the end where she has to say goodbye?  That was brought to my attention, and the immediate pain of loss hit me.

Yeah, Derek Shepherd is a fictional character.  Meredith Grey is a fictional widow.  But I am a real life widow and their story resonates. Her loss? It sucker punches me in ways no other fictional show has done.  Shonda Rhimes did SO MUCH right with that story line.

And so while checking charts, I put on some music. My Spotify playlist which includes some music from my kid. And THIS SONG comes on. (you need spotify to listen to it – here’s a YouTube link) Normally, I turn it off.

Apparently tonight I was a sucker for punishment. I let it play.

And I cried.

At work.

In the middle of the night.

Good thing I don’t have any co-workers nearby.  At least not near enough to see/question/empathize.

And I realized, regardless of the fact that I am almost 8 years out.  Regardless of the fact that I’ve remarried. Regardless of the fact that my life looks NOTHING like what it did….

I’m STILL not ready to say goodbye to a man who I love with all my heart. As soon as he comes to mind, the pain is hot, intense and immediate.

I can remember and smile at the good times. I can tell the stories without crying. I can tell the tale of his death without breaking down.

But it still fucking hurts. 7 years later. As if it just happened.

I’m not fucking ready to say goodbye.


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