I have been pouring over Gabe’s posts for the past few days. My sweet Michele followed him every step of the way after losing her friend, Lindsay and particularly after the apparent miracle we received last year when we almost lost her on the operating table during the summer of 2011. ”Honey, come read what Gabe has posted,” she would say. ”Shelby, I just can’t. After what happened last summer, I just can’t put myself in his shoes. It’s just too painful a thought.” Even now, I read these posts and they anger me. …because they ARE me, and they aren’t supposed to be.

I lost my Shelby one week ago today. A week that feels like months. Time has slowed. …as if it is dragging on to prolong the pain that is a constant physical sensation on my body. I had no idea of the depth that the alone and lonely feelings I am experiencing was even possible.

…and FEAR. A deep feeling of fear and a deep feeling of alone is a powerfully paralyzing combination.

The worst is over, right? What do you fear? …to the contrary, I believe the worst is yet to come. Even through the 5 weeks she was sick, I had faith she was coming home. …I KNEW she was coming home as recently as last Wednesday. …and with Michele, there was certainty. Certainty that our lives would be lived together. Certainty that we liked our home and would stay there for the foreseeable future. Certainty in the fact that we’d watch our two kids grow up and go to school together. Certainty that two kids was it for us. …now, for the first time in my entire adult life, I am completely out of control, and completely devoid of any certainty about what my life has in store. I still have our beautiful children who are an absolute blessing. That hasn’t changed. But their lives have now changed as much, if not more so, than mine.

I went to the cemetery this morning. It was grey and damp. The flowers were still beautiful with color. …and I wept. I cried. I apologized. I prayed. I cursed. …and then I got in the car to face another day without you.