Brian’s Gone. And I Don’t Know What To Do.
I don’t know how to write this.
I don’t know how to do this.
One minute, we were in Spain, talking about where to plant lavender. The next, I was getting a phone call, driving to a hospital, walking into a room where he wasn’t anymore.
I don’t remember what I said. Or what I did. I just know they looked at me with that face. That face people give you when they know there’s nothing left to say.
I don’t even remember driving home.
Then the funeral. The worst thing I’ve ever had to plan. It was wrong. I should not have had to do this. Not yet.
The boys were amazing. They handled so much. Sean, Cian, Eoin. They sat beside me. They made the phone calls. They picked things I couldn’t.
Brian’s chair is still in the same spot. His shoes are still by the door. I can’t move them.
The house is so quiet. It’s never been this quiet. Even Max, our dog, doesn’t know what to do. He keeps going to the window, waiting.
I sit in the kitchen, staring out at the garden. I can’t go near it. It was ours. His.
The weeds don’t bother me. Let them take over. Let it all fall apart.
Weeks passed. The boys went back to Dublin. People stopped calling as much.
I went to the doctor. Sat there, didn’t say much. She gave me something. Said it would help. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t.
I went to a bereavement group. Just sat there. Didn’t talk. Listened. Some people lost their partners years ago and still weren’t okay. That scared me.
Then, this morning.
I don’t even know why, but I stepped outside. Just stood there.
A robin landed on the fence.
Brian loved robins.
I bent down, pulled out one weed. Then another. And another.
That’s it. That’s all I did. But it was something.