Now, I exist in a continuous state of survivor’s purgatory. A place reserved especially for those awaiting the moment when someone they cherish dies. When that time draws so near it’s a constant whisper in your ears, a tickle down your spine, a knot in your gut.
Though it may seem that I am present, I in fact have one foot in the now, tense and ready while the other foot is firmly planted in the muck of memories past.
I am half heartedly living here and now. Conserving energy for the one who needs me most for a bit longer. The one that I don’t want to release into the other.
This fog allows me to function in a world that keeps on going even after they don’t. The world that doesn’t pause for anything or anyone- even death’s descent.
And so I speak. I eat but barely. I breathe. I walk. I dress. I tend. I worry. I evaluate all possible scenarios and outcomes. I cry. Sleep evades me. I do all the things I should be doing. But I do them distracted, disinterested, apathetic.
I know I will pass through this space. I’ve been here before. I know that joy and levity await on the other side of this void.
Where we are twin human shells.
And then you cease to remain but I persist.
As an altered version of my former self.
But right now every cell in my body feels painful ache and hollow. Muscle fibers tensed in perpetual fight mode. Guts in a twist. Brain spinning out.
In this zone of the survivor’s purgatory.
As I Stepford Wife along among those on the outside while internally screaming in tantrum at this cruel twist of fate.
Wanting just more time with the one about to exit my life.
Thrusting me deeper into the fold of those who have lost. Those who recognize grief on your heart and the weariness of your soul. It is truly an experience one only recognizes having survived the purgatory that is birthed in your in the limbo of death and you continue to live.