Mornings are the Hardest

I’m learning that mornings are the hardest. I wake up from dreams with him in them. I wake up to him not next to me. Over the course of the day, I become more and more exhausted from thinking, doing and feeling the pain of losing him. I become too tired to cry. Too tired to feel anything at all. In the mornings, I am fresh. So fresh, I feel the deepest sadness and have a million thoughts pinging me. I shake from chemicals in my body trying to calm me down. My brain tells my body to get a grip...the same brain that swirls the thoughts and feelings into a stew (Chip loved stews so much).

We had our morning routine of kisses, telling each other how much we loved each other, and expressing gratitude for waking to another day. We both acknowledged every day is a blessing. Mornings were meant for questions like “What’s on your plate today?” and “How does your day look?” It was my sense, in the quietest, earliest parts of the day, that we felt the most in love.

And then, we’d make the bed. Always together. We read research years back that found that couples that make the bed together, as a shared task, reported being more affectionate and physically connected to each other. Oh, how accurate that research is.

In the mornings, all of it is gone. I miss it all equally. None matters more than any of the others. The same little questions, the playful kisses, the tight embraces filled with love...and fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of losing him. Fear he expressed about leaving me alone, without him there to help me. Fears about what the future would bring for our children (Chip wanted so desperately to see them all succeed and do great things).

He loved us all so much. He was never afraid to die. He just wanted me, George, Henry, Calli, Michael, Cat, Eva, Stella and Sam to be happy. On this morning, these 3 thoughts will carry me out of bed to make coffee and to sit at the counter to drink it, without him.

He is of the light now. With every sunrise he'll be with me.